


Silent Comfort

by k_e_n



Category: CSI: NY
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:20:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 86,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23432305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/k_e_n/pseuds/k_e_n
Summary: Life's rarely easy; there are ups and downs and sometimes unplanned detours. They're just the same, going with the flow, never sure where they'll end up. The story of Mac and Stella behind what's shown in the TV-Show.
Relationships: Stella Bonasera/Mac Taylor
Kudos: 8





	1. Prolog: Without Words

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as an 'experiment' of mine and is actually the first story I wrote in English, although it's not the first fanfic I published (anywhere). It was first published on fanfiction.net. This one includes "Without Words".

It still feels like the strangest thing to do – lying here in bed, still fully clothed; or at least as far away from being naked as one could be in their own bed. But what makes this the strangest thing is the fact that she isn't alone. No. That's not really it, is it? She had been with men before - in her own bed or theirs. That's not really the strange part; that's not why she wonders, how they actually came to be here. Of course she knows the answer to that, but... Well it's just not something she could have foreseen.

What's so unexpected about this situation is that she is lying in bed with this specific man. A man whom she has liked for several years now. Liked as in being friends, inviting each other over for brunch on Sundays, double-dates for dinner with their significant others. This is a man she adores for who he is, for how he handles his work and his life. He's a man who has been her best friend for half a decade now.

A man who still wears his wedding ring.

Slowly she turns her head to look at the short, dark brown hair. It's glistering lightly in the moonlight and it costs her a lot of self-control to not play with it. She knows it will feel silky. He's got rather thin hair and he showered just before he went to bed – her bed. It would feel good, she's positive. Maybe the situation wouldn't be that awkward anymore, if she just did it. But then… that wasn't why they were lying there.

In Bed. Together.

That thought still strikes her like a lightning-bolt whenever it breaches her consciousness. She would never have expected for them to end up in bed. Not that anything sexual happened that night - or was likely to happen. They basically went to bed, both a bit stiff in their composure, both knowing how awkward the situation was. But when she hugged him she could feel how all the stress, all the pent-up emotions flowed out of him and left a boneless mess in her arms.

A mess she held dear to her heart.

She pulled him even closer then, held him while the slow, painful sobs rocked his body. It's the first time she ever saw him cry. He is a strong man, a self-confident man. She never imagined she would see him break down into tears. But now that she has, she's glad she was there to hold him. Because she wouldn't want him to be without an anchor in his darkest hour. It feels as if that's her job now.

She's his best friend after all.

Slow movement from the body lying halfway across her brings her thoughts back to the present. He's still sleeping and she knows all too well why. It's doubtful he got any real sleep during the last three months. She has rarely seen him leaving work, only eating when somebody told him so. And she knows that most of the time this person has been her.

Everybody at the office is worried, but nobody dares to actually talk to him about it. Nobody but her, that is. She has tried to talk to him, tried to tell him to go home, to sleep, only to stop herself before she said the words. He wouldn't go home, couldn't. Not now.

Not yet.

Unconsciously her arms tighten around him and she hears a tiny moan. For a second her heart skips a beat, but he doesn't wake up and thankfully she relaxes back into the cushions. She's tired but still can't find the sleep she herself needs. It's all still too fresh. And she knows, she has to be there for him again when he finally wakes up.

She sighs quietly and wonders again how they ended up here – like this.

For a second she's not sure. At the time it has seemed like the most natural thing to do, like the only thing she could have done. She remembers the party at some fancy hotel's conference room, him standing on the edge of it, not really into it. His mind has seemed far, far away. He clearly hasn't been in any mood to party. Who could have blamed him? She didn't. But she has still considered to bring him into the mood. It was supposed to be a Christmas party. They were supposed to be happy-go-lucky. Instead he has been standing in the corner, a cup of something in hand. Knowing him it has probably been coffee – without any additional content.

He has just been standing there, looking at all the people, who have gone back to their life while he seemed unable to do the same. Thing was, she couldn't really blame him for it. There were days, she was barely able to keep going on herself. And to be honest, it has taken her all of the last three months to get to this point. When she has seen him there… for the first time she has asked herself how long it would take him to bounce back from this.

Sometimes she's not sure he ever will.

She hopes he does and that's why this has been the exact moment she decided that she would do everything to help him. No matter how long it took, she wouldn't let him down. Yes, he had hit rock bottom just to feel the bottom crack and have him fall deeper. And she couldn't do a damn thing about it – except to be there for him, to hold him, to make him eat sometimes and rest before he was about to keel over.

It's common knowledge that he doesn't sleep – not anymore.

There are not many people who can make him rest. Thankfully she's one of them. She had done it before, forced him to take a nap on one of the bunk-beds in the changing room. It had been a sad sight for most of their colleagues, but it had been a welcoming sight for her. At least he had been resting; he had finally been taking care of himself even if it was only because she forced him to. Some days she's not sure if he still knows how to do that without a little reminder from time to time.

And now he's actually asleep. Really asleep. As in dreaming, hopefully good dreams. Because his life's been too much of a nightmare lately. It's probably the first time in more than three months. At least that is what she thinks. So even if it really is the first time he's slept for real, it's a start. He's sleeping now – peacefully. While she still wonders if he can go on like this. Half of the time she's not sure if she can. She's trying, but then it's not the same for her as it is for him.

Gently and before she knows what she's doing, her hand starts caressing the arm that lies across her stomach. The small hairs feel soft, as does the flesh below them. All the muscles relaxed. Finally succumbed to a blissful sleep. This feels good, it feels right but at the same time she wonders what she's doing. He's her best friend; it's natural for her to be there for him. She keeps telling herself that over and over again.

Maybe she'll start believing it at some point.

Slowly her thoughts turn back to the party some hours before. She has gone to him, into that dark, lonely corner which he has occupied on his own. As soon as he has seen her coming over, he has looked at her questioningly, but she hasn't said anything. She has just smiled, although she wasn't sure about what she was going to do, but then and there she could have sworn she saw a little smirk on his face in response.

It hasn't been a real smile, not his funny little chuckle, not the sometimes child-like laughter, not so much as that playful twinkling in his eyes. None of those carefree expressions of his she knows so well - had seen so often before. But she's sure there has been that tiniest bit of a smirk. At least that's what she's still telling herself.

Because she suspects it has been this smirk that brought them here together.

The party has been full in action, but neither of them seemed to be content with actually being there. So in the spur of the moment she has softly touched his arm, her hand gliding down until she reached his hand. When she has squeezed it he looked away, knowing what she was trying to tell him through it. Still he hasn't said anything, neither did she. The contact simply wasn't broken by either side. When he has finally squeezed back ever so lightly they both knew what it meant.

A question asked and answered.

He hasn't been 'fine' but he tried to look like it. She has seen it way too clearly. His tired composure, the exhaustion more than obvious in his eyes. But she has also known he wouldn't go home, wouldn't go back to his apartment. Especially not today. No, they've both known that he would return to work as soon as he could leave without too many questions asked. Instead he would bury himself in the next case or long overdue paperwork. And when he couldn't see the font on the papers anymore he would get up and walk around. Seemingly aimlessly.

The second her mind has started to taunt her with this image of him wandering around the streets because he still can't rest, she has tugged at his arm and her eyes have asked another question. The final question which ultimately brought them here. For a second she has seen the struggle in his eyes, the wanting and not wanting at the same time. But then he has nodded, put the cup away and followed her without any further questions, without ever looking back.

At that time she hasn't really known what would happened, she has just acted on instinct. She knew he needed to get out; that this party was torture to him and that he had only attended because he felt obligated to. It has been the office Christmas party after all. How could their boss not show up? He had felt responsible, like he had to be there. So he has been.

At least his body has been. She doesn't want to know, where the rest of him had been these last months.

Heading out from the party they've grabbed their coats and left. She remembers how she has looped her arm through his and they've started to walk away. Away from their colleagues, their friends. He had always put an effort into making everyone feel as part of the team, part of the family. Only lately he himself had drifted away from them. So maybe it wasn't so strange that nobody tried to stop them when they left.

She hasn't guided him in any direction, neither has he. They've just kept walking through the streets, not saying a word. She hasn't felt the need to. It has been kind of soothing. Just walking. Not talking – for god knows how long. Until they've reached the one place she hasn't wanted to be.

And suddenly she has wondered how often his aimless walks had guide him here before.

Honestly… she should have expected it. His feet probably carry him here all the time. Whenever he's not in the office she's quite sure now that he would end up here somehow. It isn't healthy, she knows that. As his friend she should stop him from doing this to himself. But she can't, because she also knows, in a way he needs this. He is a crime scene investigator by heart.

And this is the biggest crime scene in the world.

They've stood there for a while. She has felt him trembling slightly although she hasn't been sure if it was from the cold or the emotions raging inside him. It has been more than three months now, the rubble is still very visible. And even at night some people are working the site. People working who're still trying to find something or someone.

They had found people – alive – for a while. The only thing they keep digging up now are dead bodies. Or rather parts of them. Parts that ultimately end up in some lab, on somebody's desk – sometimes even hers. And after said somebody has successfully analyzed and hopefully identified whom those parts had belonged to once, they were packed up so that their families would get a little urn with whatever was left of their loved ones.

She remembers wondering how many of those urns some families will get until they can't go on like this anymore. Every piece found will be send. Every piece an urn. Imagine your son, your sister, your father, your beloved one shipped to you in tiny little pieces – never a whole body to put into a grave. But maybe they're content with at least having something to put into the ground.

He hasn't.

Maybe it would help, if he got one of those little urns. It might help him to get on with his life. Maybe he will get one in the future. But then … maybe he won't. And even if he did, it might be too late and he too far into his grief.

At that moment she has known, she had to bring him out of it. She had to make him rest, sleep, eat, make him live again. Because if he didn't she doesn't know how she should go on. He's all the family she has. It was her loss too. She's lost a friend, a good friend.

A friend that would always remember to invite her over for a Christmas dinner.

She doesn't want to think about that, didn't then when they were standing in front of the giant gate that separates the still living New York from its biggest nightmare. Instead she revels in the fact that it's not too late yet. She carefully runs her hand down his spine and for a second allows herself to be selfish and glad that he's still alive.

His arms tighten around her and he snuggles up a bit more to her. She can feel his hot breath on her neck. Alive. He's still alive, he's not gone like her other friend, not yet. And she's not letting him go, he's too important. Right now it might seem as if she's his anchor. But truth is, she needs him even more, because she's hurting too and she has no other family she could turn to.

So when they've been standing in front of the gates she has tightened her grip on his hand. He has looked at her questioningly and she has smiled. A small, shy little smile that asked for something akin to forgiveness. But he hasn't understood and she couldn't explain it to him, because she didn't want to hurt him any further. So she has tugged at his arm and he followed her.

Once again.

They somehow ended up at her apartment. She could see that he was uncomfortable when he passed the threshold. But she didn't let him walk way. Without the need of any words she led him inside and practically shoved him into the bathroom; throwing some towels at him and an old pair of sweats some long gone boyfriend had left. Sighing she closed the door and waited.

Only when she heard the water running, did she grab some of her own sweatpants and a T-Shirt and changed her clothes. She was just finishing when she heard the water being turned off. Some seconds later he stood in the door, uncertain of himself, looking more tired and insecure than ever before in those three months.

She led him to the bed and he didn't argue, didn't say a single word. When he sat down she could see a wetness in his face. For a second she thought it would be tears. But then she could see that he didn't dry his hair properly and that it was only the excess water, running down his face in slow little drops, further down his neck and soaking his undershirt.

He shivered from the cold and she involuntarily cursed herself for not having another T-Shirt or anything else big enough for him to wear and warm him up.

Instead she did the next best thing and pushed him on his back, throwing the blanket over him. He still didn't argue and at that moment she wasn't so sure anymore she's doing the right thing. When she looked at him he just looked back, a sadness in his eyes that nearly broke her heart.

He's her best friend – he's her family. She doesn't want him to hurt like this.

So she turned off all the lights and crawled into bed with him. For a while they lay there without moving, without touching and still not a word was spoken between them. When she couldn't bear it anymore she turned to her side and watched his face.

His eyes were open; he was staring at the ceiling, thinking god knows what. But he was far way from sleep. This was awkward and strange. She knew she wanted to do something to ease his pain, to give him some comfort. On instinct alone she suddenly reached out and slightly touched his arm. She could feel him tense up, but she didn't break the contact. Slowly she caressed the arm, had willed him to understand that she would be there for him, whenever he needed her. Suddenly he looked at her and that was when she saw it.

She saw the pain, the anger and an incredible amount of sorrow.

Without a second thought she grabbed him and turned him over; hugged him to her and rocked him as the dam broke and he finally released everything he had tried to bury in the last three months. He held her just as tightly, while he sobbed for what he had lost, for the unfairness of it all. And she couldn't do anything but hold him, her own tears starting to flow.

Crying tears for her dead friend but even more for the living one.

Time flew by as they lay there like this. She can't remember how long it lasted but at some point he had cried himself into full exhaustion and finally fell asleep. While he got the rest he needed so much, he left her alone to wallow in her own sorrow and guilt.

That's exactly how she feels from time to time. Guilty. Because sometimes she's just glad he's still alive. That he wasn't taken from her just the same. She knows that he feels guilty too, but he feels guilty for being alive. Because he hadn't been there, when he was actually supposed to. She knows that he had to cancel their plans for a second breakfast because of a case. And for him work came first – most of the times.

Just as it had on this fateful Tuesday.

She remembers it all too well, knows that he had been supposed to be there because his wife had wanted to talk to him over a second breakfast. Only, he never went. Because there had been a crime scene – her crime scene. And she had needed help. He is her supervisor, her boss, he is responsible. And although she's confident about her work, sometimes she needs him to be there and back her up. So he had caved, had smiled at her and said that she should grow up to do her cases without him from time to time. But he had stayed and had helped her.

Then the call had come in about 9 o'clock.

Somebody from outside the lab had called and she had picked up the phone. Only three months later and she doesn't even remember who it had been anymore. But she remembers how the voice had told her to turn on the TV. She had asked which channel and the only answer she had gotten was that it didn't matter which. Because it had been everywhere.

She had looked at him over the layout table and wondered what was going on. It had to be something big, if it was on every channel. So it was natural their attention had been picked. They had gone to one of the labs where some of their colleagues had already been watching it. She had been stunned when she saw the first images. One of the Towers had been on fire.

Just as they had entered the lab the second plane hit.

Cries had gone through the lab and when she had turned around she could see him speeding to the elevators. For a second she had turned back to the TV, unable to believe what she was seeing. It had taken her another second until her brain had wrapped around the fact that at least one of her friends worked in this Tower that day. As fast as she could she had turned around and then she sped up to him, following him down to one of the SUVs.

They hadn't talked during the ride. He had been trying to get anywhere near the Towers, while everyone else had tried to get away from them; as far as possible away. At some point they couldn't drive any further. Traffic had been on a total standstill. So they had left the car and had kept on going, running. He in front; she closing in on him.

Instead of the usual 20 minutes car ride it had taken them more than twice that time to get from the lab to anywhere near the Towers. When they had been only two blocks away they heard it. That low pitched sound. She's never going to forget it. They had felt a strange vibration, similar to an earthquake. And when she had seen the first signs of the clouds she had grabbed his arm as hard as she could and dragged him into the nearest building entrance.

He had tried to get away, had tried to get out but she didn't let him. She can still hear him screaming to let him go, while she had needed her whole body weight to have the slightest chance to keep him down; so he wouldn't run outside. She simply hadn't been willing to let him run out there to die. There had still been a chance his wife made it out. The hour it had taken them to get there could have been the hour his wife needed to get away.

A shiver runs down her spine when she remembers those particular moments. Thinking back she wonders why she hadn't really been afraid to die. Maybe she had been too occupied to make sure, he didn't kill himself. Perhaps she hadn't cared because if she had died, they would have died together. Neither would have been alone.

It was a soothing thought now, as it must have been three months ago, while they had been lying on the tiled floor of some entrance hall. They had both been breathing hard, both not knowing what just happened, but also both having a fairly good idea of the few things that could cause a dust cloud like that.

She brings the comforter up his shoulders and tucks him in a bit tighter, not willing to remember the possibility of them dying in that entrance hall.

His grip tightens around her again and she can see from the frown on his forehead that he's not having a particularly good dream. Well, she isn't either and she isn't even sleeping. She tightens her arms around him in response, carefully caressing his cheek, glad he's still alive – and bound and determined to keep it that way.

She's going to be there for him, if he wants her to or not.

Slowly the sun is coming up and just then she's becoming aware of the time. It's morning. A new day is about to begin and maybe it will be a good day. At least she could make him sleep for a night. That's something. It is a start. They can go from there. If she can do something like this for him from time to time, maybe he'll come back to the land of the living.

It will take time.

She knows that, knows it won't be easy, because he won't make it easy for her. It's a given, he'll fight her all along the way. They know each other long enough. Most of the time this man is unwilling to accept that he even has a problem. He's a strong man. Strong in physics as in willpower. But her will is strong too and she's definitely not ready to let him kill himself by starving or by sleep deprivation.

So in the end he might turn out to be their local insomniac. But if she can make him sleep from time to time then that's all she'll be asking for. Because it means he's still alive and not out there under all that rubble or in one of those thousands of tiny little urns. They survived and she'll make sure, it stays that way.

When she feels him waking up, she loosens her grip on him a little, to give him space. But he's keeping his tight grip on her. That's when she knows, that she really is his anchor and that he's thankful for the night's sleep.

After some more minutes they finally get up and he gets dressed, while she takes a shower. For a moment she wonders if anybody at the office will notice he still wears the same clothing as the day before. But then… she doesn't really care and neither does he, because he just looks at her with that little smirk she had missed so much and nods towards her apartment-door.

A smile tugs at her lips and she finally nods in return. Together they walk out to call a cab and get to the office. Back to work, back to another case. But they walk together. She's sure now, that he will survive the pain and the guilt and most of all he will survive the sorrow. It will take time – years probably, knowing him. But one day he will be okay and move on.

Still alive.

And if he didn't know that she'll be there for him before, now he does. Because they're friends. If he hits rock bottom again, she hopes he'll call for her. And in case he doesn't she'll keep an eye on him, watch for the signs – just to make sure. So when he needs her again and doesn't call, she'll be there without him asking. Just like the last night.

Because they don't need words; they need each other.


	2. Silent Question

It is dark outside. Most of his colleagues are probably asleep already. Those that aren't on duty that is. Sitting here feels strangely familiar, although he doesn't do it that often. Thankfully. It's not something he likes doing in his spare time anymore. But since he's still not sleeping very well and his ever worried partner had practically thrown him out of the office, there hadn't been a place he would have wanted to go to. No place other than this.

Carefully he leans back in the uncomfortable chair. One would think, that they would start to build those things better. People are supposed to wait here patiently. But then, maybe they don't really want them to be around. It's bothersome. Seeing them. Waiting. Hoping. Even if there's no hope left.

He's not hoping; he's not really waiting either. The only reason he's here is because he's afraid that otherwise he would stray to the one place that can help him ease the pain inside.

Slowly he looks at the figure inside the bed. The woman is breathing thanks to all the medical equipment around her. But that seems to be all there is about her. She won't wake up, the doctors made sure to tell him that. And even if she did, what good would it do her? She would still be trapped inside her own body, unable to ever talk or walk again. Mind functioning, everything working as it is supposed to. Everything except for her body.

He can actually understand it. Sometimes he feels the same.

Yes, he can still move, he can walk around, talk, interact with people. But he's not feeling like he really does all that. Something inside him is dead. Trapped. And he's unable to free it. Sometimes he feels as if he can do it. But then everything falls back and he's where he started nearly three years ago.

It doesn't feel that long.

But then, he hasn't felt all that much during those years. He knows, that he needs some rest right now, needs to let go of everything. But he can't. Every evening he walks home and lay down in his bed just to get up two or three hours later without getting any real sleep. Instead he gets his sports clothing and goes out to run until he can't run anymore.

He remembers the last time he actually slept through a whole night – or whatever counts as that in his business. It had been cold. He had been cold, inside as much as outside. But he hadn't been alone. It hadn't even been a conscious decision then. He had just gone with her, lay down in her bed and when she held him he could finally let go of everything.

Finally he hadn't been able to fight sleep anymore.

And that's the reason he never went to her apartment after that. He's afraid to let go again. Not because he's afraid to lose something, but rather because he doesn't want her to see him like that. That… weak, again.

"I'm so tired."

I hears his own voice without really recognizing it. It's hoarse, dark somehow. Just like his feelings inside. This is way too familiar, way too painful. Why does he even start to talk now? It's not like the woman in the bed will hear anything, never-the-less answer him.

"I used to sit like this with my wife. Her name was Claire."

The memory comes flowing back with his words. It wasn't a hospital bed then – never a hospital bed. But he used to sit in their bedroom like this quite often. Watching her sleep; watching her chest rise and fall, while she slept. She never was a night-person. Winter was hardest on her. Whenever it got dark, she could fall asleep almost instantly. Not to mention the trouble to get her up in the morning.

Of course she always tried not to fall asleep. Their first year or so in New York she had tried to stay awake and wait for him, when he had the late shift or to get up early when he came from graveyard. But she almost never made it. And at some point she had given up trying. He never blamed her for it. Why should he? He loved her just the way she had been.

And he loved to sit in their bedroom and watch her sleep.

"She died on 9/11. Nobody saw it coming."

It's hard talking about it. Even after all those years. They haven't found her, not one single piece. No urn to put in the ground, no grave since he couldn't bring himself to leave it empty. Her grave is inside his heart, so he can carry it with him. It's easier that way.

Just not very healthy.

His voice breaks for a fraction when he continues: "I was cleaning out the closet the other day, and I... I found this beach ball. And I remembered it was my wife who blew it up."

Again he has to stop for a moment. He never talked about it to anybody. Not even his best friend. Maybe it would be easier if he did. But then… maybe it wouldn't. And he had decided a long time ago, not to burden his friend with it anymore. It wouldn't be fair to bring her down with him. She had all her life in front of her.

He still feels like his should be over.

"I never told anybody this, but I got rid of everything that reminded me of Claire. Too painful. The one thing I couldn't throw away was that beach ball. Her breath is still in there."

He remembers the day, about two weeks ago. Until he had found the ball again, he didn't even remember, that he had kept it. Even now he couldn't the first time he found it and why he really kept it. Was it really for this sentimental reason or just… because he forgot to clean out this particular closet when he got rid of everything else.

After this Christmas 2001 he threw out everything obvious that reminded him of her. Everything except for some photos which he put into a box that went to the far back of just another closet. But her clothes, her laptop, even the little ballet-figurine they had bought on their first weekend-trip to New York; it all went out in either some big black trash-bag or to some charity that could make good use of it.

And then two weeks ago he found the ball.

It had hit him like a brick-wall. Fast and hard. He remembers it all too well. For a moment he hadn't known why he even had a blown up beach-ball in his closet. He hadn't been to the beach since… well since quite some time before 9/11. But they had been planning to. The weekend after the attack. They had been planning on a weekend on the beach and Claire had already started with the preparations. It had been a fun evening with her being all playful.

Him finding the ball hadn't been that much fun once he remembered. He didn't know anymore what happened exactly, but he knows that he came to his senses about three or four hours later, maybe even more. His butt firmly on the ground, his head leaned against the wall, the ball still clutched in his hands and his heart aching to feel her arms around him again; and to hold her in return.

For the first time in all those years he had felt lonely. He knows he's alone whenever he's at home. But most of the time he's either not there, preferring to be amongst his colleagues or he's too occupied to really think about how empty his apartment has been for all this time. All he had wanted at that moment while, sitting on the floor, was somebody to hold him, to anchor him to this world again.

Because contrary to popular believe he's not really planning on dying anymore – not for most of the time.

But right now he has the same yearning as he had during that night he found the ball. He wants nothing more than to get that feeling of belonging back he used to have so long ago. And that's why he suddenly gets up. For a second he rests his hand on the woman's arm, whispering an apology, before he turns around and leaves.

About half an hour later he's standing in front of an apartment door that's definitely not his. He doesn't really know how he got there, but he's quite sure if he turns around now and goes back to the street he'll find his CSI-Truck somewhere around. That's also what he should do right now: Turn around. Walk away, without ever telling her that he came here. But then he would still feel like this, would still be that empty shell.

He needs to sleep, he knows it and he knows, that he didn't get any real sleep for… longer than he wants to remember. On the other hand she has every right to turn him away. She probably will. Maybe she has somebody in there. He doesn't know for sure, although he probably should.

They're best friends after all.

It would be normal for him to know, if she had a relationship. Wouldn't it? On the other hand he's a man, so maybe she doesn't want to talk about this with him. But then… he knew about her former boyfriends. Most of them. Some. He's… somewhat sure about that. Why shouldn't he know about it? Still, he doesn't know if he wants to find out.

Thinking about it in the pragmatic kind of thinking he usually uses for work… It's too much to ask of her. He has no right to put her through that. She has lost a friend too and she's coping with it quite well. She's living her life, moving on. And it's been such a long time. Just because she's been there for him before doesn't mean he has a right to ask her again.

But he's so tired.

Suddenly the door opens and she's right in front of him. His eyes widen when he takes in her sight. She's just as surprised as he is. A bag in her hand tells him, that she wanted to bring out the garbage. And for a second he wonders if he'll be thrown out just the same. Wouldn't be too farfetched. Would it?

His eyes wander back to her face. Her forehead is wrinkled in a frown so he opens his mouth to say something. Explain why he's here at this ungodly hour. But no sound is coming out. He's speechless, unable to tell her why he came, what he needs. Thankfully she seems to understand him anyway – as she always does.

So she puts the bag down and gabs his arm. Two seconds later he's standing in her living room, not knowing what to do with himself. He can't ask her. It's too much. He has no right to, he knows it. The words are repeating themselves inside his head over and over again. But again he doesn't need to say anything because when he turns around she's there already. In the background he can see her garbage right next to the apartment door where she put it down to throw it away later.

Maybe he should take it and walk away.

Her hand comes up to his arm and she squeezes it lightly. All he can do is stare at her hand and try not to fall apart. He has done this to her before. Why did he come here? Just to do it again? He doesn't want to hurt her, because he's sure that's what he does every time he forces her to see him like that. That weak, that hurt. All it does to her is remember her of her dead friend and what they both lost.

"Still not sleeping", she murmurs when she takes hold of his other arm.

It's not a question so he doesn't feel the need to answer. What could he answer anyway? If he says he does, it's a lie and they will both know it. If he acknowledge it, he's admitting to it, to his weakness. He doesn't want to be weak – least of all in her eyes.

But he feels an almost desperate need to sleep.

Her hands guide him towards the bed. He knows, he should turn around and go. Tell her it was a mistake that he came here, that he just wanted to tell her, that he's alright. But then, she wouldn't believe him – rightly so. And him telling a shallow lie is the last thing he wants to do to her.

Next thing he knows is that he's lying in her bed, his suit-pants still on, shirt still on, only his shoes are gone – probably not that far, but he couldn't even say if he took them off himself. His eyes are fixed on the ceiling and he knows, he should get up, find his shoes and walk way. It's just that he can't because he also knows that he needs this.

He needs her.

She lies down next to him and her arm comes around his chest. It just stays there. No question asked from her, no answer given from him. Just like the last time all those years ago. He needs it, like he needed it then.

So he turns his head around and looks her straight into the eyes. He wants to ask for her help – probably more than she had already given him by bringing him in here. But he can't say it, can't ask her. There's this ache in his chest that just won't go away. He hopes she can help with it, but he doesn't know and he's too afraid to ask her for her help.

Suddenly she slides closer and hugs him to her. All he can do is close his eyes and hug her back, because he's grateful. So grateful, that she always knows what he needs in his darkest hour. Much more so, that she's still happily providing him with it.

He buries his face against her neck, her long hair lightly caressing him and closes his eyes. Her arms hold him tightly, something he's been craving for so long. A sigh escapes his throat before he can suppress it. He's sure she heard it. If she did she doesn't say a word; just holds him even tighter, as if she knows that it's the only thing keeping him grounded.

It's been so long, so long since he felt this serenity anywhere around him.

Here in her arms that's where he can feel human again, where he can feel whole again. He needs it, he wants it and he's glad beyond everything that she's simply there for him. Helping him to get through the night. Even if it's only this one night. He just needs it.

Before his mind can spin another turn around the same thought he feels sleep tugging at him and for the first time in many years he's glad to give in to it. Morpheus can be cruel, but he knows that he will have a good night if he's right here in her arms. And so he surrenders to them both and feels himself floating away.

Peacefully.

When he wakes up the sun is already up. He can feel her breathing evenly and slow. Her head rests on his shoulder, her arm across his chest. It feels right somehow and he can't bring himself to wake her up. So he waits and watches her. There a serenity around her that he hasn't seen or felt for so long, that he can barely remember.

For a second he wishes, that he could wake up like this every morning – that he could sleep like this every night. But he forces the thought back to the dark corner from where it originated. He can't think like this, can't imagine it. She's his friend, his best friend. You're not supposed to think like this about your friend. Not even if none of those thoughts would warrant a PG rating or higher.

She stirs suddenly and he loosens his hold on her to let her get up. But she stays where she is, her right hand still on his chest, her whole body still snuggled up to him. He doesn't break the connection either, so they stay where they are until he can feel her hand moving around his chest, caressing it lightly.

He takes the hand into his own to stop the movement. It's too familiar if she does that. It feels too good, too intimate. Although it's been years he can't allow himself to feel like this. Not with any woman, none-the-less with this one. They're friends. If he starts feeling differently about her he's going to be in trouble, because he knows she won't. How could she ever feel different about him? He's her best friend; she's been very good friends with his wife – god knows what those two used to talk about.

Nothing else will ever be between them.

About an hour later they're both up – not talking. She has put on casual clothes – they're both not on duty today. Still he has a feeling he'll end up in the office anyway. And he's sure she knows so too. When he's getting ready to leave he sees the garbage near the door and slowly turns around.

She's standing in the middle of her living room, looking rested – as he hopefully does. Because if he doesn't she'll be all worried about him again and that's one look he really don't want to see on her. He doesn't want her to worry, although he knows quite well that most of the time that's exactly what he does to her. Problem is that no matter what he tries, it always comes back to him not sleeping and working too much.

If it wasn't for her insistence he would have given up on himself a long time ago.

"Why?" he asks suddenly, not really sure what he really wants to know. Why did she let him in? Why hasn't she given up on him? Why does she even bother? Why can she stand the sight of him when he's that far down, when he hates himself for being that weak?

She smiles and shakes her head lightly before she takes the few steps to close in on him. He's not moving away; just stares at her, unable to look away. Her hands come up again, like they did the night before, but this time they come to rest on his chest, the heat from her body penetrating through the thin layers of his shirt and undershirt.

"Because I hear you asking – all the time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For all those who're not sure which episode this was: It's 1.01 Blink and the spoken conversation in the hospital is directly from the episode, so those words are not mine – I just borrowed them and extended it to my version of what might have taken place ;)


	3. Wordless Begging

"…Shots fired. Two-three-four-four Lexington Avenue. Possible officer involved. Apartment 12 Charlie. Repeat possible officer involved."

He can still hear the voice resounding in his ears. Since he first heard the words they've never really left him; like a haunting curse that just won't go away once it's spoken out loud. The moment the words had sunken into his consciousness, he had thought his whole world would fall apart – that he would fall apart again. It had taken so much time for him to come back to some resemblance of a life… But finally he had succeeded in it; finally he had found a way to not only cope with things but to actually find happiness in all of it. He had friends, he had work and he had found himself loving both. Then he had heard the call.

By mere chance.

If he hadn't walked by that police car when he left from crime scene in front of that Kid Rock concert, he might not have known for… way too long. He would have gone back to the office to hear about it some hours later; when everything was already over and done for. It would have been too late by then and he knew that he could have never forgiven himself for not getting there in time – or not at all.

Although he has to admit he doesn't know what good it did him; or her.

But when he had stormed into that apartment – her apartment 12C on Lexington Avenue – all he could hear was the voice of the dispatcher, rivaling in volume with the beating of his heart.

"Possible officer involved."

Those words could mean so much and yet nothing. Officer firing shots; officer getting shot; officer down; officer dead. He hadn't wanted to admit to any of those possibilities, because each one of them would mean another one of his own private pick-a-hell come true. Although he has to admit the first possibility held some kind of hope in itself.

He knows her; he knows the kind and caring person she is. But most of all he knows that she would have problems bringing herself to kill a dying animal. Actually shooting at a living breathing person has always been hard on her. If she had to shoot someone it must have been out of pure terror and that thought is going to hunt him for a while... But he also has to admit that there's something comforting in the thought, too. He felt guilty the first time the thought occurred to him because somebody had just died. But Frank dying meant that she's still alive and not one of the other possible meanings of the dispatch call had played out.

She's hurt; yes. Badly so. But she's alive and something inside him had tried to convince him through the whole day that she will pull through this. He knows her; he knows she her strength and she can overcome everything. Although at some point today he hadn't been sure about how long it will take her – he still isn't. When he had seen her like this in the hospital… Her arms had been pulled tightly around her knees; her face a crime scene of its own. He hadn't known what to do then. Everything inside him hat screamed to take her into his arms and thank every god he has ever known she was still alive.

He doesn't want to imagine how he would feel if she weren't; alive, that is.

The helplessness he had seen in her face when he had first visited her at the hospital nearly broke his heart. She had wanted so hard to remember, her brain probably just shut down and refused to go anywhere near that memory. When he had touched her shoulder he could feel the tension in her. Again it took all his willpower not to grab her, trying to give her back some of the strength she had offered him over the years.

To give her back this part of herself which made her the amazing woman he had come to admire so much.

But his arms hadn't come up, hadn't gone around her, hadn't hugged her to him. He couldn't do it. Don had been there. He might have seen more than a friendly hug. And while her mind had been in no condition to think anything by it, their friend could have. Flack would have seen that she means more to him than any other of his friends; that he needs her on a totally different level – and for a totally different reason.

So he had turned around, went away and straight back to her apartment. Because at that moment it had been the only thing he could do to help her. He needed to find something that would help her remember what really happened; why her former lover was dead and she had to endure the sex assault kid procedures. He hoped to find something, anything to explain to him – and her – what had happened. But this rare clue at first sight eluded him this time.

Everything he collected had been sent to the lab until all he could do was going back just there and hope Hawks would find something; anything. Gladly in the end his young colleague did just that. Only it hadn't been what all of them were hoping for. Because the only thing they learned was that Stella did shoot her lover.

Not something he would consider good news.

How could he have told her? Simply going back to the hospital telling his best friend she just murdered her lover? Without anyone knowing why? She didn't know why. That was the big problem. Right then nobody knew what had happened and the only witness they had was not only unable to remember but also the only suspect in what was now a potential homicide.

So all he had thought about, standing in the lab, listening to Hawks telling him what he had found, was that he had to help her. Somehow he had to help her answer all their open questions. All he had wanted was to help her through the pain that was bout to hit her when she finally did remember what happened that night. She was hurting so much already. And he had no way of knowing how hard this would really hit her. Only the fact that the man who did this to her couldn't hurt her any more was any consolation. For the time being she had been safe in the hospital.

But she hadn't been safe before; in her own home – with nobody there to protect her.

The thought had continued to haunt him when he finally went back to his investigation. To him this hadn't been just about clearing her from any charges. Because everyone working this case had known she's incapable of murder. Nobody ever doubted that. Even if it was only because they were afraid to get their heads chewed off by him. But he had known with every fiber of his being that she couldn't shoot somebody without a valid reason; without it being self-defense or her protecting somebody else. No. In the end to him this was about helping her to remember what happened so she could ease her mind of the torturing idea that she actually intended to shoot that bastard. Helping her to get through this, that's what it was to him. Returning some of the support he had gotten from her every time he had found himself in a dark place before.

But instead of giving her all his support and power to help her, he had work two cases at once because the darn Kid Rock case seemingly went over Danny's and Lindsay's heads. Lindsay had called him; and true to his fears that case suddenly got a lot more complicated. As if he hadn't had enough to worry about already. From then on he practically had to solve two cases at the same time. Which meant: Less time spent at the hospital with her. Right when everything he really wanted was to give her every detail of what had happened that night; to tell her that she hadn't done anything wrong, that it wasn't her fault.

Because it couldn't have been her fault.

So as fast as he possibly could, he had left the Kid-Rock-case in Lindsay's and Danny's hands again and went back to his own case. Stella's case. By then he had already worked for two days straight, without rest. The tiredness has been creeping up on him, but he put it down again and again. Rest could wait and sleep was a precious gift he rarely got from anyone. Right then the most important thing has been not to fail her. Not now; not ever. So he has kept on working, checking the evidence, trying to find anything that would tell him the truth. Evidence doesn't lie. That's the first rule he learned in CSU and the one rule he always tries to enforce in everyone at his lab.

But just because evidence doesn't lie it's not necessarily always talking.

And sometimes it's actually better for one's sanity if it's not talking too loud because when he finally got to process her bathroom, he has been sick thinking about what had to have happened in there. He knew that she was bound and he knew the second he saw that razor-blade how she had freed herself. His stomach churned at the sight of all the blood in the bathtub.

Her blood.

The clinical part of his brain should have told him it wasn't really that much blood. But every drop was hers, standing out way too stark against the white of the bathtub. Every drop simply one drop too much. He knew at that moment what had happened in here. It was crystal-clear to him how she had struggled, how they had continued to fight in the living room and how she had finally shot him there. Because she hadn't seen any other way to get out of there alive.

She had done the one thing so totally against her nature.

When he stood with her in front of the hospital after the whole case was closed for good and she cleared, he wanted nothing more than to take her home with him. To hold her and tell her, that everything would be okay. She would pull through this, he was certain but seeing her like this was nearly breaking his heart. He couldn't tell her everything was going to be alright, because maybe it never would be, maybe this would leave a scar which while unseen on the surface would mark her forever. But he could have told her that it would fade away; in time.

Most of all he could have told her that she was safe now.

But again he didn't say any of it – although this time there was no Don whom he could use as an excuse. Instead he offered her a hotel room, tried to convince her that she shouldn't go home to her own apartment. She refused. A little voice inside him kept demanding he took her home or at least gave her an encouraging hug or… to just do something. Doing anything would be better than what he actually did, namely smiling and nodding. Giving in to her refusal, accepting it, although he knew it was a mistake.

On the other hand he shouldn't have been surprised. She had always been a strong woman. Strong willed most of all. All this strength had to come from somewhere. So maybe she didn't really need him; maybe he had thought wrong of her. Maybe he wasn't needed and his protection wasn't wanted.

Just because he had needed her strength didn't mean she couldn't pull through this without him.

She looked confident, much more like the person he had gotten to know over the last ten-plus years. But although they became closer over time standing in front of that hospital he wasn't sure if it she was putting up a front or if she really was okay. At that moment he simply wasn't sure. All he could see was the determination in her still injured face when she asked him to drive her home. Home to an apartment which was still crashed, where the blood was still in the bathtub, on the carpet, the bed. He didn't want her to be there but she insisted.

So all he could do was follow her wishes and hope it was the right thing to do.

He had watched her enter the building, refusing his offer to come with her, help her to put some things together and maybe convince her that she shouldn't stay there after all – at least not until clean-up had gone through her apartment. But it seemed as if refusal was all she would offer him that night. She smiled at him with this sad smile that nearly broke his heart again.

He had stopped counting how many times his heart had stopped since dispatch had put out that message.

Deep inside he knows that he shouldn't feel that much for her. Yes she is his best friend and it is only natural that he wouldn't want her to come to harm, but the horror that had struck him the first time he had heard the message… It had hit a spot he didn't know existed. Since then he had come to admit rather slowly that this was deeper than any friendship he had known so far.

He needs her to be okay because he needs her to be there when he walks into the lab. And even if she's not really there in person something of her is always present. This something is the only thing that helped him to be the man again he used to be before… Well just before. If she hadn't brought him through these first months, this first year, he's not sure if he would still be here. He probably would but he wouldn't be the man he is now.

Least of all he could live a single day feeling carefree enough to not wallow in his guilt. Guilt for not being with his wife when the towers fell; for counting on Claire's patience with him and his workaholic tendencies; for taking a rain-check on their date for second breakfast.

For not telling her he loved her on their last phone call.

If it hadn't been for his ever optimistic best friend he would fall right back to the dark place, only thinking about his late wife. But during the last four years he had been taught that he still has a life and that it was worth living for. That he was worthy of living.

So leaving her alone at her apartment had been hard. He wanted to give her back something of what he had gotten from her during those years. But she refused. And as a friend it was not only his duty to look out for her but also to heed her wishes.

So he went to his own home.

It was about ten minutes after he arrived back there – he had just taken off his suit and put on some comfortable sweats and one of his black T-shirts – when the doorbell rang. For a moment he was stunned. His doorbell rarely rang. But then… he rarely was at home so maybe he just didn't know.

When he opened the door she was there. Not saying anything, fighting with tears, trying to smile despite the fact she not only shot a man but with it also killed her lover. Her eyes were way beyond sad. Tormented, full of pain but more than all there was the one thing he didn't ever expect to see in those eyes.

This was wrong. She should never feel the need to have that look in her eyes.

He grabbed her hard and hugged her to his body. A thud told him that she let go of the small overnight bag. Instead her hands clutched onto his shirt and not a second later he could feel her hot tears against his neck; could hear her pained sobs.

And his heart started to break all over again.

He let one hand go of her and pushed the door closed before he practically dragged her backwards. First he guided them to the living-room, but his couch wasn't really comfy enough and he knew from his own experiences that this would need time. So he continued into his bedroom. She didn't let go of him for just one second. That's why he got them both down onto the comforter and held her. Simply held her and hoped that it would be enough, because for him it had always worked. And honestly, he wouldn't know what else to do.

This time it was his turn.

Her sobs turned into rambling, little curses, he couldn't really understand. Because all he could hear was his own heartbeat and the voice of the dispatcher; telling him over and over again that his best friend, the one woman who had kept him sane during the last four years had just gone through hell.

So he clutched at her even harder and buried his face in her hair; thankful not only for her being alive but also for the fact that she came to him. He held her so tight that he was afraid he would hurt her, but he couldn't let go. She could have been killed by that madman. She could be dead; she could be shot; she could be… so many things. But instead she was alive, breathing.

Even if she was crying in his arms.

"How could he do this to me?" he suddenly heard her whispered question; the one question he couldn't answer.

He shook his head and his hands caressed her back to sooth her as much as he could. "I don't know,", he finally answered. "I… just don't know."

And that's all they said for the rest of the night. Until her sobs subsided and she finally fell asleep – long past midnight. He's still embracing her now, holding her as close as possible – simply because he still can. Her hands won't let go of his shirt and her head is comfortably resting on his left shoulder.

He remembers a similar pose not that long ago; about a year, maybe two. Only then he was in her bed because he just needed to sleep so badly. He hadn't shot somebody he used to love but in a way he had probably been just as desperate then.

She's an incredible woman, a strong woman, but is she really strong enough to go through this? He's not sure anymore, but he'll most definitely make sure that he's there if she needs him. If she needed him to hold her while she slept, he'll take that. Because he wants her to feel safe and he'll do everything to make sure it stays that way.

Again his hands lightly caress her back. He's careful not to wake her up. She'll need the sleep to get her strength back; to find this place inside her where she always draws it from whenever he needs an anchor. Today it's his time. Maybe he's not her anchor… but he can be a safe harbor; if that's what she needs.

He stays up during the rest of the night, unable to sleep. So much is still going on inside his head and her lying in his arms is not really helping him to sleep this time. It's been quite some time since he had a woman in this bed. Strangely he doesn't feel bad about it. He would have thought that it would feel… wrong somehow. It's still the same bed his wife used to sleep in.

But this is not just any woman, it's his best friend. And if he didn't help her in this moment of need, Claire would be the first one to kick his ass. So there's no need to feel guilty, no need to feel strange. They're best friends and he'll always be there for her.

Also this isn't anything but a friend in need getting the help she needed.

The next morning comes early. Well not really earlier than usual, but still the night was short. It had been way past midnight, when she had fallen asleep and the sun went up early this time of the year. Still, she doesn't move away from him, when she finally wakes up. He knows she's not sleeping anymore and she must feel his irregular breathing and know he's not sleeping either.

They don't talk, they just lay there, still holding each other tightly – unable to let go.

He has told her the evening before to take some days off and right now he's contemplating doing the same. She needs him; he saw it in her eyes when he opened the door. Remembering the look on her face, this one thing in her eyes… it's going to haunt him for a while, that's for sure. So he hugs her closer and tells her in a hoarse voice:

"No more begging, you hear me? You need me – I'm there."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dispatcher-lines are from the episode, everything else is from me. In case you don't remember the episode in detail… at the end she's refusing his help and have him bring her back to her apartment. But as soon as she's there she starts packing up some stuff and goes somewhere. So where would she go? A hotel? Boring. Mac? Better ;P
> 
> This is about episode 2.21 All Access.


	4. Not Talking About It

Today was a hot but beautiful Sunday. If she hadn't been on duty she would probably have gone to the Central Park or the beach. Anywhere to relax, as far away from any dead body as she could get. But unfortunately she had been on duty and actually was out on a case when the call came in.

A bomb, somewhere right in the middle of New York. It had been a while she had felt her adrenalin pumping like this. Not even during the whole Frankie fiasco had she felt this anxiety. A Bomb in the middle of New York… just like 9/11 all over again.

When she had heard that he was inside the building at the moment the bomb went off, her heart stopped. She hadn't known what to say, what to think. And she was eternally thankful that it had been her driving because when her foot had hit the floor she could see Danny grabbing the door handle. He would have needed double the time it took her to get to the site. And every second of this time would be a second less she had to worry about her friends.

It had taken all her willpower to not storm into the building but let Hawks and Danny do the searching instead. She wouldn't have been any help if they found him or Flack. Hawks is a medic, Danny is strong enough to carry a grown man. She isn't either. So she had stayed outside and started to work with the DHS-Lady, whose name she has forgotten by now.

That woman didn't matter anyway; didn't then doesn't now.

Her eyes wander sadly over the figure slumped in the chair only a couple of feet away. He looks tired, worn out. She's not sure if he's still hurting; if the pain ever registered during the last hours. Because he had to be in pain, had to be at some point.

Whatever had hit him in the neck wasn't a fluffy pillow and it had left a nasty gash that needed stitches. This fact alone should have him worried; it has her worried. That damn blue powder didn't help either, at least not with keeping the wound clean. But he is alive and he isn't as badly hurt as Flack. So she has something to be grateful for.

Even if him being okay meant there was no chance in hell he would go home and rest; or to hope he would be reasonable enough to stay under medical care. Sitting in a hospital chair doesn't count as actually "staying in hospital".

She sees a tremor running through his weary frame and wonders if he's cold or remembering something. Remembering Don lying there covered in blood with an open stomach wound. Or is it something else? Something about the time he got that nasty scar on his chest.

In all those years she knew him she had never seen it before. Well theirs wasn't exactly the kind of relationship where you would flash your naked chest to one another. But still… it had shocked her for a moment, because it had shown her that she didn't know that much about the man she had called her best friend for more than ten years now.

He had tried to be as nonchalantly as one can be sitting there in a bloody shirt and waiting for the EMS to patch him up. But he had noticed her look as she had stared at the scar. He hadn't really picked up on why she had done that – thankfully. It hadn't been the scar. No, it was the fact that – although this bomb might have added a new scar to his collection, he had survived. The heart below that old scar was still beating. He would be up and running around as soon as the EMS let him out of his clutches.

She actually marvels at the fact that his heart is beating strong and steady.

And true to her prediction during his examination by the EMS, he has been with Flack minutes later; waiting for his surgery to end, going through the cruel task of taking the photographs. She had offered to take his part there, but he refused. Maybe he needed the connection; maybe he just needed to know that Don was going to get through this.

During the rest of the day it has taken them quite a while to get anywhere with the case. And all the time she has wondered, when he was going to keel over from exhaustion - or pain. On the surface he the wound on his was the only obvious injury, but she is sure that he has bruises all over his body. She had seen some of them when he had been with the EMS. And since he was closest to the bomb he had to have felt most of the blast.

There is no way, he is okay.

But he has kept on going as if nothing happened and all she could do was watch and try to coordinate the work at the bomb-site – so that he could concentrate on the case without having to worry about that, too. Because he needed to be with Danny and Lindsay, with the actual evidence where he could do something.

While she could do nothing but sit around and wait for that DHS-Lady to pull her head out of her ass. Only when Mac told them how the bomb was triggered that lady started to work with them for real. By then it was way too late for the next bomb. She saw him loose every little bit of patience he got left.

And she couldn't really blame him.

So all she actually could do was to grab his arm and bring him outside. He needed rest, but he wouldn't do so until he knew that bomber was behind bars and Don will pull through this. Everything she can do is keep him grounded. And that's what she did.

She went with him back to the lab, hoping against all hope that Danny and Lindsay had found something, anything to end this nightmare. The ride was silent and she was tempted several times to try and get him to speak, but one look at the gloomy figure in the passenger seat and she rather opted for silence.

Seeing him like that hurt more than she is ready to admit.

They were all hoping to get to some breaking point in this case. Only she had to watch her best friend, helpless against this nut-job who tried to bomb New York to ashes just to prove a point. Seeing him in his office, trying to trace the call from a killer who knows way too much about her partner… Well, it was nearly too much. But she had to be strong so that she could take some of the pressure that was threatening to crush him any moment.

Again she watches him changing position in the chair, waiting for the verdict on Don.

He's in pain, she can see it now even more than during the day so far. But if she tries to talk to him about it or even get him to lay down, he won't comply. Not as long as he's not sure that Don will be okay. This is more than just a hurt colleague. Don is his friend. But even that is not enough, there's more behind his, something she doesn't know, something she can't understand right now.

Only she can't do anything to help him through this if he's not ready to talk.

It's this whole case. A nut-job trying to be a marine, trying to be something he's so proud of. Being a marine is so much a part of his history that it's ingrained in his very being. That's what made this personal for him. That and the fact this guy put her partner right into the center of his delusion. She can understand the frustration this proud man in front of her must have felt. Comparing that pride and his strength to a schizophrenic military wannabe… it's not something that would ever cross her mind.

Even when he's as down as he is now – here in this hospital – he's still strong in his own way. Sometimes he might need a little help to go further, sometimes he might need her to ground him. But in her eyes that doesn't make him weak. The fact that by now most of the times he knows when he needs that help only makes him stronger.

But when they were in that abandoned warehouse and he stood right in her line of fire just to lay down his weapon… this was the second time that day her heart had skipped a beat or two.

Yes, he convinced the nut-job to put down his weapon and for a moment she was actually amazed at how he had done it. Amazed at how strong his whole posture was when he stood there as the hardened soldier he used to be, he still is; demanding the respect and the allegiance he deserved.

And he got it.

She was so proud of him at that moment. Just to feel sorry the next second because Lessing had dared to put himself up there with her friend. It's not hard to imagine this would hurt on a totally different level. Lessing had no right to compare himself to her partner.

Maybe that's why it was such a shock hearing him say that he could understand Lessing and in a certain way even agree with him. When she looks at him now, slumped in that chair she does believe him. He's worn out, tired. Tired because he's protecting those eight million and although Lessing was a nut-job, he showed them that they can't protect everyone.

They could have lost Don today; their friend could have been the one person they – he – couldn't protect.

Not much more and they would have learned that they can't protect their own; much less the whole city. Maybe Lessing is right, maybe they're not ready. But she knows the man in the chair over there is trying his best to change that, to do something about it, to make it better. Not to mention that while he's at it his strength helps his whole team to do the same.

She wants to help him in return, even if all she can do is keeping him supplied with coffee.

This is all she could do for the last hours, because she knows the caffeine is all that's keeping him up. Well that and the fact the verdict on Don is not spoken yet. He needs to hear it himself. No sooner will he rest. No, he needs to know his friend is going to be okay. So if keeping him supplied with some coffee is all she can do, then this will be it.

Suddenly he gets up and walks over to the window overlooking Flacks room. For a second she gets excited, thinking Don is waking up. But then she hears no nurses coming and her partner is just standing there and staring at the lone figure in the bed. He hasn't woken up yet. They still have to wait.

Then she sees him open the door and quietly enter the room. Slowly she creeps forward and watches how he goes over to the bed, takes Dons hand and murmurs something to him. She knows he needs the privacy. So she stays outside and just watches them. She can't see Don because her line of sight is blocked by a hunched back.

Again there's some twinge inside her when she looks at them like this.

For a moment nothing seems to happen, then she sees the back hunch over a bit more and hears a mixture of a sigh and laugh – escaping a tormented soul. At that moment she's not sure if it's good or bad, because he's still clutching the railing of the bed and not really moving. Should she go in? Or wait? Maybe the pain finally caught up with him and he's nearing the end of his tether. Before she can decide he stands up tall and turns around. When his eyes fall on her, he gives her one of that little smiles of his and nods.

That's all it takes to assure her that he's okay.

He comes over to her and just when she wants to step out of the door so he can leave the room, his arms come around her body and he hugs her close to him. For a second she's too stunned to react, but then her arms move around his shoulders and press his head to her shoulder and neck.

It's over. They've pulled through it. Not long now and he'll allow himself the rest he needs so much. He's not going to talk about it. He never does. More than four years and they haven't talked about that other fateful day – not really. No, he'll just bury it somewhere deep inside so that he doesn't have to deal with it.

At least not for now.

All she can do is wonder how much space is left at that place inside him. Because one day it will be filled up. It's a frightening thought. A thought she shoves way from her as fast and as far away as she can. It's not the time to think about something like this. She had enough worry for a day.

"You should rest", she tells him in a quiet voice, knowing he won't listen to her.

And true to the fact he shakes his head, telling her something about how he has to wait until the doc cleared Don for good. She nods but still guides him back to the chair. If he doesn't want to rest, he should at least sit down – before he really keels over.

She guides him back to his chair and sits down in the other one, leaving her hand on his arm all the time. It's too soon to break the connection. He looks at her and she knows he's thankful that she didn't press the matter. They both know that she can make him do nearly anything, if she just puts her head into it. But not this time. This time she has to play it by his rules. He needs this and she's the last person to deny it to him.

About an hour later his head slumps to the left. So she carefully grabs his shoulders and turn him around a bit, so that he's lying more comfortably in the chair. He still looks exhausted and for the first time in all those years she has known him he actually looks old, beaten.

Although they won the fight.

But maybe that's just it. They've won another fight but they're still far away from winning the war. Chances are that they never will. There will always be a threat out there, always the next madman, the next murderer, the next serial killer. Somebody will be there to make sure they've got enough work to do.

This is their job, no matter how hard it sometimes might be. Still… tonight she wants nothing more than to take him home and hold him, like she has done those few times before. She wants to make him sleep, not just resting his eyes; make him feel save, as he did with her. Her hand wanders up and she starts caressing his scalp. He's either asleep enough to not feel it or he simply accepts it, so she continues.

It feels good; she feels connected to him by it somehow. In a way it's just as she told him before: They take care of each other. That's what she's been doing for several years now. And she knows quite well he does the same every day. Every time she catches his eyes watching him, every time he walks in on a crime scene this half step in front of her, every time he insists on going with her if she has to talk to a more violent suspect.

Careful not to wake him she continues the caress, reveling in the warm feeling that's building up in the pit of her stomach. It's familiar, it's welcome; it's something she can only do when he's asleep. So these moments are rare and therefore something she treasures. He only let's go like this when he's with her he would never let go like this in public otherwise. She knows him too well to think otherwise. That's why she knows what will happen in the hours to come, too.

When he wakes up he will demand some answers from any doctor he can get his hands on, while she will be waiting here for him to wind him down afterwards. To hold him if the verdict is bad and to share his triumph if it isn't.

Because that's what they do.

Afterwards they will call the lab, so that Danny and the rest of the crew will know how Don is holding up. Then they will leave. They will find someplace where they can get a decent coffee at five o'clock in the morning. When they're done with that he will insist on driving her home and tell her she should rest for the reminder of the day. She'll tell him no in return and he will smile at here and insist anyway. So she will cave, knowing that he himself will go straight to lab.

Because it's what they always do.

So instead of resting, as she was told she will shower, get some fresh clothes and another cup of coffee, before she will head out to the next deli to buy something to eat. Half an hour later she will turn up at the lab, finding him in his office signing papers or in one of the labs already deep into the next case.

Looking up at her he will frown at first, then smile and when she lifts the bag with some solid food inside, he'll smile even more. By then he'll definitely be hungry and knowing him he won't have had more than a candy bar for breakfast. So they will sit down, eat and chatter about what needs to be done, which cases are next, about the looks Danny gave the new gal from Montana and if they should intervene before it gets serious between the two of them.

When they're finished eating they will both get back to work; probably on different cases, in different labs, doing different things. From time to time she will see him through one of the windows, hunched over some piece of evidence or surprising one of the youngsters at the lab with his waste knowledge about… well some small detail of anything nobody would suspect him to know.

They will smile at each other silently, knowingly. But during all this time they will not talk about what happened that day or how they sat here; him sleeping, her caressing his neck, trying to ease the tension the only way she can.

Because that's not what they do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was episode 2.24 "Charge of this Post". The basic outline of what happened is from the episode of course, everything around it is just fabricated by me.


	5. Whispered Confession

What a day. She had never been much into Science-Fiction. Fiction? Yes. It was a good way to wind down; getting lost in another time or imagine living another life. Science? Hell yes. It was part of her to an extend where it felt like another appendix. But the combination of both? Not so much.

Up until now she hasn't really had the time to think about it. Too much had happened during the day. At first it had sounded like a strange story; a basic storyline for a movie or a TV-show. But this wasn't supposed to be something happening in real life. To her it had never been anything but the crazy rambling of another nut-job. They had at least a dozen of those on a daily basis in every precinct of the city.

Only usually they're not dead – or waking in naked. That had definitely been different.

Just as different as the whole story that followed. Time-travel. She still can't wrap her head around this one. Even her always critical partner had seemed to believe it at some point. But maybe he had just been yanking their chain. He tended to do that more often lately. Hopefully a sign of him finally coming out of this shell he had put himself into five years ago.

He had definitely been smiling more during the last year or so.

It had felt good to see him open up to other people around him. In way she had felt proud because she likes the thought of her having at least some part in getting him there. So seeing him this… contend had made her feel happy too. He was finally getting his life back; finding somebody he felt comfortable enough with to let his walls down and allow himself to feel again.

When she thinks about that something inside her starts to hurt. She puts it down fast and tells herself she's only hurting for him; because of what she saw earlier this evening – before she left the office in a hurry. By then she had been so sure he would need some company tonight that she went straight to the bar, suspecting he'd be there already.

And she had been right.

There he has been, standing on the stage, eyes closed, not moving. He wasn't playing, wasn't humming, seemingly just listening to the music, waiting for his part to come. For everyone else he might have looked like he was simply enjoying himself and the music he loved so much. This one night a week had become his own personal haven since he had met the bar owner about a year or two ago. At least that's how it was on a normal day. But not today - and she could see so clearly how the pain inside him had blossomed anew.

He was hurting; again.

It has been that little frown, the way he has kept his eyes shut just a bit too hard, how he has avoided to look at people. Simply waiting for his part to play, listening to a song which told about love. A love he lost – another one; one he had dared to commit himself to. How could he not hurt?

A letter…

Being dumped in a letter. How cruel was that? A curveball from the sideline, so to speak. That wasn't how one should treat an already weakened heart. But then… she could understand Peyton in a way. She couldn't really agree with it and she'll make sure to tell her that if she ever sees her again – which is unlikely. Still she can understand how Peyton didn't want to see the damage she was bound to cause. It's hard to look this man in the eye while you're about to shake his whole foundation. Especially knowing his history. He had lost a loved one already. Of course Peyton didn't die which would hopefully be some consolation. On the other hand that meant her not returning to New York had been a conscious decision. She wasn't ripped from his hands like Claire; Peyton went willingly.

Doesn't change the fact that this letter was a rather cheap way out.

To be honest she doesn't have the best track record regarding break-ups herself. The last steady one ended with a dead body in her apartment, herself wounded. Not a particularly good memory. Still it's cruel to end a relationship this way. Peyton should have learned during their relationship that his feelings are more fragile.

When she finally arrived the bar has already been filled – like every Wednesday she had ever been there. So it took her a while to move through the people and get to a little table with a free chair. She sat down just as he was beginning to play. For a second his eyes stayed closed, but then they opened and as if he knew she was there, his eyes found hers and he smiled. A pained little smile, but it was a smile none-the-less. Right then she was so glad. Because this time a part of her wanted to believe the message this smile tried to tell her.

He was fine – or at least he was going to be. Soon.

She wasn't sure if she could really believe it though. He's been through so much during the last years. Sometimes she wonders how he can do it. But then whenever she's thinking like this, at the same moment she hopes she had had a part in helping him to get back on his feet again. She needs to play that part. Maybe it's wrong to think like this, to feel like this. But she doesn't have many people she would call a friend, even less she considers family.

He's still one of the later.

Actually he's probably the only one she would currently call family. She needs him in a way she can't explain. Until now she never needed somebody so much. When he told her he would go to London after the raid at the lab she had smiled and nodded, knowing it was something he had to do. But something inside her broke apart because it also meant that he had found another anchor and didn't need her anymore.

That maybe he would never really need her again.

She had smiled and had been happy for him, just like she had done, when she saw the first signs of flirting between him and Peyton. More from her side than his as far as she's been privy to it. Peyton had been flirting quite aggressively, not really giving him a chance for his usual "I'm flattered but not really interested". Even so, Peyton had accomplished something nobody had in a long time. She had gotten under his skin and finally he had gone with her to London, leaving his job with not so much as a second look. Something so uncanny of him it still stuns her at times.

Again something twinges inside her when she remembers that moment. But she doesn't allow it to surface.

Instead she thinks back to some hours ago, when he was still playing in the bar, his eyes going forth and back between her and his guitar. Every time he looked at her he gave her that little crooked smile that was supposed to tell her he's okay. But the more often she saw it, the less she believed him. He wasn't okay. Far from it. He was hurting like hell and she saw it with growing clarity.

Question was, what would she do about it? If she should do something at all; something besides telling him to take care of himself.

They had been at this point before – more than once. And so far they had come out of it mostly unharmed. Some feelings might have been scratched that weren't meant to be. Maybe it had been awkward, especially that first time. But they were friends. And because they were best friends, they could trust each other – entrust themselves with each other. Sharing the pain and helping each other cope was just another way of expressing their friendship.

Only it was getting harder and harder to see him like this.

Suddenly the music stopped. For a second she wasn't sure what has happened, but then she saw the singer step aside and grab a glass of water. They were just on break. Her eyes wandered around the stage, but she couldn't find whom she was looking for. How? He had been there just a minute ago.

"What're you doing here?" She suddenly heard his quiet voice right next to her.

Of course he wasn't up there anymore. She should have known he would come to her as soon as they were on break. But she couldn't give him the answer to his question. They probably both knew it anyway. There wasn't any use in speaking it out loud. So she just smiled at him and shrugged her shoulders.

He nodded and looked away before he took a healthy gulp from a glass, which clearly didn't contain plain water. Oh yes, they definitely both knew right then and there why she had rushed to get here. He might not have known how she had learned about the whole affair – or it's ending. But at this moment he had to know what had brought her there.

The amber liquid in his hand was screaming a totally different message he tried to get across to her during the evening so far.

Thinking back at the time she had found the letter… it had fallen awfully easily. It's not like she was looking for it. Consciously or not he must have left it there on the edge of his desk, knowing she would be in his office later that evening. She always brought him her finished paperwork so he could sign them off. And she always threw them halfheartedly on the same edge of his desk.

The edge where he left said letter.

"Need some company?" she asked lightly when he just stood next to her table, his nearly empty glass of suspected whiskey still in hand. Not looking at her and not saying anything either.

But he just shrugged, continuing to look at everything and everyone but her. When he finally lifted his head and faced her, he smiled again. A smile full of pain. He knows about Drew and he probably knows that sometimes she's contemplating to give it a try. For Christ sake, he even encouraged her just this morning! It hadn't been more than twenty-four hours, since he told her that he's happy with Peyton and she should give another guy a chance, too. No matter of how strange and fishy she found Drew's very aggressive come-on.

Regardless of all this he decided to answer her question in his usual way: That he's fine - and as before she didn't believe him.

This must have been the moment she came to a decision of her own. This time she should accept his unwillingness to ask for help. It should be his decision, because he wasn't supposed to be this wounded animal anymore. This poor creature that doesn't know where to go because it's hurting too much; unable to decide who he could entrust himself with. He had left that dark place when he started living again; living with Peyton by his side.

"Then I'll just listen a bit more to the music," she told him

Another nod, somehow resigned. But his smile faded for a moment before it was back; as was the mask he had started to wear again. Had it been a mask all this time? She couldn't believe it; couldn't believe he would really enter a relationship with anybody if not a large part of him was into it. He wasn't so shallow. She knew him better than that.

He had loved Claire, more than she can imagine even today. She had seen that every time she had been over in their apartment; when she was invited for dinner, for Christmas, for birthdays. Remembering those times still hurt her and she's not sure how much it might still hurt him. But lately he had been better, had started to have feelings for somebody again. And that somebody left him.

Definitely not 'fine'.

The band started playing again just then. And when she looked up he was at the stage with them; where he belonged at this time of the week. Another place he seems to feel save, another home – away from her. He really looked at ease there. Suddenly she wasn't so sure anymore if he considers her his family, too. They had been drifting apart for a while now. She had had Frankie, he had Peyton, now there might be Drew. And looking back at the last year they had spend less and less of their spare time together – each getting caught up in their own lives more often.

She doesn't want it to be like this, doesn't want them to drift apart any further. If they do, someday they will be too far away from each other to be there when their help is really needed. And it will be needed again. As much as she wishes it's not true… It is. Today of all days had taught her that. She could see it on the stage, in his hooded eyes, in the pain still emanating from him. Buried though, because he didn't want her to see it.

He was trying to protect her.

That thought had been strange – still is – although it shouldn't be. Of course he would protect her, but she never thought he would protect her from himself. Did he really think he could be a burden to her? In her darkest hour he's been there for her as she had been for him. Does he think all this will stop just because they had both started to have lives outside their friendship?

What kind of friend did he think she was?!

It had made her angry, probably still would, but then… Putting all anger aside: At that moment all she really wanted was to be there for again, to make him feel better. She had held him this first Christmas while he cried for his wife. The first and only time she ever saw him cry. They had shared that moment. He had trusted her enough to let go of everything, knowing she would be there to catch him.

And still, in that bar tonight it seemed as if it hadn't been enough. Or maybe he had thought it was too much to ask? Well it wasn't. It isn't. It would never be. She'll be there for him, no questions asked. She had always thought they had established that a long time ago. Those had been his words at some point. But obviously his thick head had taken a bump or two too much lately and he had forgotten that this friendship isn't a one-way street.

Or his newest wound was too deep to trust anymore – not even if this trust in her should come naturally by now.

So she stayed there in the bar, not moving away from the table, watching him looking back at her. She was determined to stay till the end. He wouldn't get away from her easily. If his head is thick, hers is a brick-wall.

As hours ticked by people left and her resolve to stay and make him understand she was willing to help him, was getting weaker by the minute. Being friends also means you should let the other party have their own mind, their own live, make their own decisions. If he's unwilling to talk, maybe she should let him be. It's not as if she's his mother. He has one of those up in Chicago.

Maybe she should call her, so that she talks some sense into her son.

She has to grin thinking about the last time his mother had called the office and practically told her to take her son by the ear and drag him to some place, where they have decent food. Except for the grip on the ear she had actually followed the order to the word – with pleasure. Grinning all the time while he sat there brooding, because she threatened to call his mom and tell her he's still not eating properly.

The last song ended late in the night and when she looked around there weren't many people left. It was late and the middle of the week; people had to go to work the next morning. Most of them anyway. He was packing up his guitar, getting ready to leave. Again she wasn't sure if she was doing the right thing.

But she got up and walked over to him anyway.

Her hand came to rest on his arm and he looked up at her. They weren't speaking – they're at their best when they don't. He smiled again but this times it was an honest one. So she reciprocate with her own. Carefully she caressed his bare forearm. It was a question and him hesitating to say or do something was answer enough for her.

"Come on," she finally whispers and signs towards the door. She wouldn't let him drive home on his own now anyway.

He had started to say something, but she didn't let him. She pressed her index-finger against his lips to silence him. Amazingly it worked. If she had known that before, she would have used the tactic sooner. Maybe she'll remember it for later use. But then… it might not be the best idea to do it in public; in the lab. Could lead some of their less mature colleagues to jump to all the wrong conclusions.

Instead she maneuvered him out of the bar and into her car. He has had several drinks, something he rarely did, least of all in public. She wasn't going to let him drive anywhere like this. It wasn't likely he had enough to really be inebriated, but it was a good reason to take him with her anyway. Wouldn't look good on the police-report if the head of CSI got picked up because of a DUI offence.

An hour later and she's still staring at a quite unfamiliar ceiling, unable to sleep because the events of the day and especially this evening won't let her rest easily. Thinking about it she had been here before, but she doesn't really want to remember that night. Not because of the man, who's currently asleep in her arms but because of the reason she's been there. Or the fact that it had been her who had been hurting then.

This time it was her turn to provide the comfort again.

It seems to be a regular theme with them. Strangely familiar and yet it doesn't feel like it did this first time. It's somehow deeper now. She needs this as much as he does, because she doesn't want to see him hurting anymore. He's been through too much and she has tried too hard to help him through it. Defeat isn't acceptable; not when it concerns him.

Her arms tighten around him.

How could Peyton do this to him? She's a nice woman, not the kind of woman she would have expected to dump him in a stupid letter. That was so… impersonal. It's said, that classic mail is more personal because you actually write it by hand and don't use some fancy technology – which is not so fancy by the way if you're working with high end gas chromatography and virtual autopsy simulations.

But let's be real here for a moment… Even the Royal Mail doesn't make it from London to New York in one day. What if he had called her that morning? They were supposed to be in a long-distance relationship. It's not that unlikely to call each other out of the blue.

Is it?

Is she wrong in this? Is her judgment clouded because her best friend was hurt? Again. By another woman who left him. Peyton wasn't his wife. She wasn't pulled out of his arms by some senseless act but it must still hurt. Not the same, but it will hurt. She knows this man too well to believe otherwise.

The way his hands are clutching at her right now tells her enough.

She sighs and closes her eyes. When will he finally get some rest? He might sleep, he might rest his body, but when will the powers that be give him some peace of mind? Sometimes she's praying for it. There are times when she thinks the moment is finally there. Actually she had thought so as soon as she saw his first positive response to Peyton – when he thought she wasn't looking.

There had been a twitch inside her, something that hurt though – just a little bit.

But she had been happy for him, had been glad that he had finally found another person to confide into. Only to see him getting hurt again. She doesn't want that anymore; can't stomach it anymore. Of course she will be there for him. But seeing him in pain – physically or emotionally – is getting more painful for herself every time it happens.

Slowly she drifts away. Sleep makes her eyes heavy and she's eager to give in to it. It has been a long day; a trying day. So she tightens her arms around him again and holds him as close as she dares without waking him. When her breath evens out and she's way too far gone to wake up again she thinks she can hear him whispering.

"Don't leave me, too. I need you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was episode 4.04 "Time's up". I think there are no real lines from that episodes quoted this time, but of course – as with the other chapters – a large part of the general storyline came from it.


	6. Unspoken Agreement

"I snore."

Two simple words followed by a simple reply and with that, an equally simple lie. He knew the second the words left her lips. They both knew, but she held his eyes, didn't waver in her decision to not accept the offer of his spare bedroom. He didn't understand it. Neither her need to lie nor why she refused in the first place. They had slept next to each other before – on several occasions. He had never heard her snore before. Never.

To be honest, he expected her to just accept it and be done with it. It was not as if he had offered his own bed. He knew not to do that. It would implicate something he didn't want to offer. He never had. But offering a spare bedroom to your best friend who really needed one, well that's something different.

They're friends, best friends. It's supposed to be the most normal thing to do.

The fact that they had sought comfort from one another on various occasions over the years didn't mean there was anything... inappropriate going on between them. Because there wasn't – isn't. There never had been. He didn't even think about how his offer it might appear. Well, at least not until he stood there in her burned down apartment, listening to her giving him an unrealistic excuse as to why she'd rather stay at some flee-motel than in his perfectly well and empty spare bedroom.

For the first time since that day six months ago, he asked himself if what he had been looking for the last time he went with her, had really been all that appropriate. He could still remember the day; unable to forget it really. She had come to the bar that day; when he had felt like no company could ease the pain. At least not the kind one of his friends could provide.

Well, except maybe for the one friend that came in liquid form.

All he had wanted that day was to forget. To forget what he had tried to build with Peyton. Sure, she hadn't been the first woman he had shared company with after his wife had died. But she had certainly been the one he had actually started a relationship with. A romantic relationship. Of course he had known there were certain… issues between them. But he had thought that they would figure those out sooner or later.

Obviously Peyton had thought otherwise; and he was left alone once again.

How his best friend on the other hand had known when he needed her most… he had never understood. But while he had wanted nothing than to drown in his loneliness again she had come to his rescue once again. He should have known she would be there and that his insistence he was okay would be futile.

Because she had seen through his lie the second he tried to tell her he was 'fine'; just like he had seen through her today.

Doesn't change the fact he had gone with her at that evening – without any real resistance. And maybe it was the real reason she refused to accept his offered spare bedroom. Had this been the last straw for her? Was it one time too many? He supposed that even being best friends has its boundaries, especially if the parties involved don't share the same gender. Had he crossed these boundaries and taken her with him, without her being willing to go there?

Or is she simply tired of always taking care of him?

He knows she's a kind and caring person, who would do anything to help a friend in need; anybody in need, for that matter. It's not like her to get 'tired' of caring. But it's been such a long time… it was long overdue that he got back on his feet in every aspect of his life – not just the professional one. He doesn't have the right to depend on her like that; no matter how good friends they are.

But then it's not him who needed some comfort today. It was her apartment that burned down. She is the one who has lost everything. So as a friend he offered help. Normal, isn't it? Nothing else to it. He'd help any of his friends and he would do it any time.

It's just that she's his best friend.

A sigh escapes his throat as he leans his head back onto the couch. Staring at the ceiling in his living room doesn't help though. Throughout the day he tried unsuccessfully to understand why she didn't take him up on his offer. It wasn't as if he had been actually hurt by her refusal. Okay, maybe it had hurt, at that specific moment. But he knows she doesn't owe him anything. If anything he owes her – more than he can ever repay. More than she'll ever know, because he sure as hell is not going to tell her. So why does it bother him so much?

"Who am I kidding?" he asks himself with another sigh.

When she refused to come with him, something began stabbing at his insides. It's not supposed to be painful, because it's not supposed to matter like this. Still, it does. It does, because he has known for a long time that he needs her. He needs her to stay with him, close to him. So he can make sure she's safe and sound. She's all he has left from his former life.

And he's not willing to give that up.

Yes, he has a new life, a professional life – from time to time even a social life. He's dating; he has needs like every healthy male does. Life has to go on, that's what she has been telling him for years. So in a way his life was going on. He's meeting people; he knows who to call for a casual date, a night to not spend alone. But somehow that's all just… some kind of bonus. Because there's something missing with those women. A real foundation, the kind everyone needs to keep going. For him… he has found it in his relationship to her.

And maybe that's the problem.

He's been depending on her for quite a while now. It's understandable that she would be fed up with holding his hand every time he hit a low. No question that he's a sad sight at those occasions. If the way he felts during those times was any indication he doesn't want to know what he actually looked like. Although sometimes, he suspects that she's the only one who can see right through him in when he's like that. And that's how she had managed to be there every time; to pick up the pieces somebody else left behind on her way out. Every single time she had come to him when he needed her, putting her own life at hold, if only for one night. It's not fair to ask that of her.

So, although he's sure a thought like that would never breach her conscious mind, maybe deep down inside, this was the real reason she refused his offer. Something inside her might have made her realize that she needs to get her own life; without him interrupting it time and again.

Because she's not his keeper, she's his friend.

Again he sighs. This is getting him nowhere. She simply had not wanted to stay with him but rather at a hotel. What's the big deal? They're not married; not in a loving relationship for that matter. They're simply friends. That's all there is between them. He's not only her friend and partner, he's also her boss. Working together is normally a major turn-off for relationships. That two of his subordinates seem to think otherwise doesn't matter.

And why is he even thinking about this?!

He can't be contemplating a relationship with his best friend. He never saw her like that; never thought about her in that way. And still something draws him to her every time the darkness creeps up on him. She provides him with something he's been missing since the day his life got turned upside down by two planes crashing in the middle of New York.

Sometimes it feels as if he depends on her to… simply be there. The first time he had needed her was only three months after his wife died; the next time took more than three years. But since then, they had shared these moments more frequently. Okay, so it hasn't always been him alone who needed some comfort. Still it seems as if the need inside him to feel this serenity, to go back to those moments did come more often lately. On the other hand maybe he was just getting more comfortable with the fact. Accepting that she is the only thing that can help him – and she would never go away with nothing but a note and an apology.

So maybe she just wanted to avoid the big pink elephant in the room...

Her staying at a hotel might not be so bad. She can rest and doesn't have to put up with his insomnia. Not, that he would expect her to do anything about it if she'd stay here. Also there are other… things… to contemplate. For starters his fridge is empty most of the time. He couldn't even offer her any decent food. Although he can do quite good Chili-Burgers he's not sure that they would count as a 'good dinner' in her eyes.

Not that she's picky… she has gone with him for hot dogs – to a dog-show. She even had fun there. At least he hopes she did. Because he definitely did have fun that day. And not only because of all those strange people who were completely obsessed with their dogs!

So in the end it's really not bad that she didn't take him up on his offer. She's having a nice dinner, sleeping in a big, fluffy bed instead of the mostly unused one in his spare bedroom. Thinking of it, he's not even sure it has clean sheets on it – not that there had been someone to dirty them. But they might have been on there for… Well he doesn't really remember when he last changed them. Or if he ever did.

He's cleaning the room, like he does with the rest of his apartment. You don't go through boot camp without learning how to clean up your room. And you definitely don't leave the marines before you've learned how to keep it that way. Still doesn't change the fact that the room continues to be unused. And he continues to be alone there.

Maybe he should call her.

Even if she doesn't want to stay with him, he can invite her for dinner at some restaurant. She had already suffered a hard day before all her belongings got burned. The least he could do is buy her dinner and be good company. He can do that – he's fairly sure about it. They could talk about… something that's not work related. It can't be too hard. He can do that with a casual date, why should he when he's with his best friend? If he puts himself to it he's sure he can hold a decent conversation with her; do this whole 'friend' thing.

He can pretend that he doesn't feel the unbearable need to talk to her and make sure she's okay.

Suddenly his doorbell is ringing. Wondering who it could be he slowly gets up. The peep hole on his door shows him a young man he hasn't seen before. But he's wearing a bright yellow and red uniform he knows from one of the places a couple of streets way where he sometimes orders takeout. The box in his hands is a dead giveaway, too. Opening the door he frowns at the man, scratching his head and thinking if he actually forgot that he ordered dinner.

"I didn't…," he starts, only to be interrupted rather quickly.

"Two pizzas as ordered," the guy in front of him says, chewing on his gum and looking at him with an indifference that only delivery boys can show.

"Listen, I didn't order those," he tries again, this time with a bit more force and a frown on his forehead.

All that it gets him is a crooked smile and a piece of paper that clearly states his name and his address. He sighs, not really sure what this is about, but since his stomach is growling… well, gifted horse and all that. Although it's not really gifted because the expecting look of the young man tells him that he's the one to actually pay the horse; so to speak.

Shaking his head and still wondering if he's got dementia or something, he gets some cash and pays the man who gladly takes his leave. For a moment he watches the boy get into the elevator. Holding two pizza cartons in his hands he's unsure what to do. He's hungry, but he'll never be able to eat them both. And where's the fun in that anyway? So this would be a good time to call his currently homeless partner. While he doesn't know which hotel she picked, he's sure she could come over before the pizza runs cold.

Or he could call her cell, ask where she is and drive over to her.

"You want to eat that or just stare at it?"

Startled he looks up from the cartons in his hands and turns around, recognizing the one person he's been thinking about all this evening. She's smiling at him. That kind and somewhat knowing smile, she always wears when she's asking if he had any sleep last night or when she brings him some bagels with his coffee, so he eats breakfast for once after his graveyard shift.

"Actually I was contemplating to ask bomb squad to take a look at it. Anonymous deliveries are not really my favorites lately."

That one got her smiling even more, although there's a tinge of something in that smile that he hadn't seen before. He takes a closer look at her and he can see that she looks more tired than usual. Her posture is a bit drawn back and then his eyes fall on the travel-bag, she's holding behind her back.

"I could check it out for you," she offers with some hesitation.

He nods contemplative, pretending as if he really has to think about it. But he can't suppress another smile and so he finally opens the door for her to come in and she gladly follows his invitation. Her bag falls down right next to the door, while she slowly walks further into the apartment.

She seems to be a bit nervous about being here; maybe about something else, too. But at that moment he's simply glad she came anyway. Her hands are clutching at each other – another sign for how nervous she really is – and she's still smiling. Smiling too much actually.

That's when he finally understands: She's afraid to ask.

He doesn't know why and he doesn't want to ask her because there should be no reason for her to be afraid of asking for his help. Or comfort, for that matter. So he closes the door and holding the pizzas with his left hand grabs her bag with the other one.

"I'll just get this one to the spare bedroom. How about you sit down and see if these are still hot?"

Her relief is all too visible although she doesn't answer his question. He's actually hurt that she wasn't sure he'd be there for her, that she was instead, afraid to ask him for his support. But he doesn't want to think about it right now and instead makes true on his words by bringing her bag to the other room. He places it right next to the bed, remembering that he should change the sheets before she'll go to bed.

For now he's needed elsewhere and so he returns to the living room, where she is waiting for him already. Somewhere on his couch, or at least in close proximity, she found the remote for his TV and switched it on to some news-channel.

They watch in silence and eat the pizza, while today's events flicker over the screen; fitted into tiny little spots, that would never cover all the facts. It's kind of comforting in itself – just sitting there. Not being alone, not eating alone.

Eating at all, for that matter.

And time's running by faster than he could imagine without them even talking. He doesn't need to anymore. Her being here is calming him enough. It's hard to say if it's her or just the feeling of another person next to him; doing everyday stuff like eating pizza and watching TV. It's something he used to do with… those closest to him. So doing that with her comes natural in a way.

The midnight news is on when he finally looks over at her again. She's curled up on her side of the couch, fast asleep but lightly shaking. It's warm inside his apartment, so he's not sure if it's a bad dream or simply the after effects of what happened to her. Since it doesn't really make a difference either way he gets up and quickly changes the bedding in the spare-bedroom.

When he's back in the living-room she hasn't moved a bit. For a moment he's not sure what to do. The reasonable thing would be to wake her up and tell her it's time to go to bed. But something inside him twinges at even thinking about interrupting her sleep. It's a little miracle she can sleep this peacefully after everything that happened today.

He picks her up carefully, trying not to wake her. She's not a light sleeper, but still she barely comes back to awareness when he lifts her up. He can practically see her sluggish thoughts; trying to process what was happening, where she is; trying to remember why she's not at home.

He shushes her and whispers to her to go back to sleep. Since she's not really awake yet she gladly obeys. Her eyes close and he continues on to the spare bedroom. When he finally lays her down on the small bed, she's already back to dreamland. Carefully he puts the comforter around her shoulders and watches her for a moment.

She looks calm. None of the unfamiliar nervousness and shyness is visible anymore. Neither was a good look on her. The insecure woman who came to his apartment this evening…that was not her. That's not the person she is; far from it. This woman's stronger, better than that. She's been his pillar of strength through the last years.

Careful, so as to not wake her he caresses her cheek, pushing back the curly locks from her face. When he becomes aware of what he's doing he quickly pulls his hand back. He can't do that. Can't go there. With a deep breath he turns around and leaves. At the door he looks back for a moment, reveling in the fact that she's okay. She could have died today. Not on duty, not during her shift, not shot by some perp. Instead she could have died by a simple act of desperation.

He starts shaking just thinking about it.

His hand comes up, gripping the door frame a bit too tight. He doesn't want to lose her. During the last years he has lost so much. But she's the one constant in his life, the one person that hasn't left him; despite her having every right to. Because during those years he has depended on her so much, that he's amazed she's not tired of it yet.

With a considerable effort he turns around. He leaves the door to the room open just a bit though. He doesn't want her to wake up in the dark, in an unfamiliar environment, and get scared. She should never feel frightened when she's here, when she's with him.

But when he lays down in his own bed, Morpheus is – as usual – not his friend and doesn't give him any rest. He's staring at his ceiling, wondering what drove him to touch her like that. When he looked at her sleeping face he couldn't stop himself. He need to touch her, to be sure she's okay. To be sure that she's really there and not burned.

To be sure she didn't leave him.

But it's not healthy and it's sure as hell not appropriate to need her that much. He can't allow it to be anything but a fluke. This sinking feeling in his gut… he has to stop it somehow. She's his friend. Of course she matters to him – that's a given. But this is getting him closer to dangerous territory.

She had been right to hesitate when he invited her over. Of course she doesn't have the same trouble with this… closeness. How could she? She's not as 'damaged' as he is. With everything that happened to her she has managed to be a normal human being. No, even more. She managed to get an incredibly strong woman; a woman that he depends on way too much.

They have to go back to that 'regular' friendship they used to have. He has to step back as long as he still had a chance. It's not like he's unstable or anything if she's not there. He's perfectly capable living on his own. But the need for her to be there is growing.

Still, it's getting more and more clear that he's on a path that could very well lead to his destruction. What if he ever got to a point where he might want to cross those last boundaries? Well he can't really picture himself like this right now. But what if? What if he ever got there, no matter how unlikely it was? This would not only make working together so much harder, it could screw up their whole friendship, even their lives.

If she ever left, for good… he's not sure how his life would look like.

It's not as if he can't live without her. That's a tad too melodramatic. He's a grown up man and thinking like this would only belittle the work she had put into him during the last years. So in light of all this work it's in a way pathetic that he still needs her to be there like this. He never had any doubt about his job, about his life. But through the whole time he had somebody by his side. First there were his parents, then his wife and during the last years… his best friend.

She's his pillar of strength – and his biggest weakness.

While he knows that he can live without her by his side he also knows this life will be much more… dull. So if he wants to preserve the friendship they had right now and not endanger it in any way, there's only one course of action left.

He sighs and knows he won't get any sleep tonight. His brain will not shut down any time soon. So he gets ready to mentally face another night without any shut-eye. But while he's lying there, the emptiness that he hadn't felt for such a long time slowly starts to creep up on him. On pure instinct, he suddenly gets up.

It's time he stopped going this path any further.

Slowly he walks through the dark hallway. Only the moonlight filters through the windows, being his only source of light. For a moment he stops and looks outside. The lights of the city are way too bright to see the stars. But those lights are just the same, artificial stars. Only for quite a while now they have lured him along the wrong way.

He looks along the hallway. There's light filtering through the door of the spare bedroom. And before he knows what he's doing he's standing right beside her bed. Thankfully she doesn't wake up because he's not sure how to explain his presence here at this ungodly hour.

She's sleeping so peacefully. Her face is relaxed and her breathing even. At least she's not having nightmares after today's events. That's a comforting thought. She's safe and whole and everything he needs her to be. So to be honest he's not even sure why he got up and came over here; right after deciding that he couldn't walk this way anymore. Maybe he just needed to check on her one more time.

He should go back to his own bed now.

Eight hours later the woman in his spare bedroom slowly awakes. The sun is already up and the early light is bathing her in an unearthly glow; highlighting every little detail of her face. When she turns her head he's there, sitting in a not very comfortable chair, watching her as recognition about where she is and why she's here sets in.

He's not saying anything, neither is she. But she smiles with a bit of an apology in it. All he does is shake his head slightly; he's sure she knows what he means. At least he hopes. There's nothing she should apologize for. Never. He would help her anytime; be there for her whenever she needs him.

As a friend.

A frown grows on her forehead, when she continues to watch him. He's sure she knows that he's been sitting in this chair for quite a while and she's probably worried because he didn't sleep. Well he hasn't been sleeping very well for some time now. He can cope with it. Over the years he had some practice. And it's not as if it's as bad as it used to be. At least he can find some rest now and then.

This time it's him to offer her a smile that speaks of sorrow and an apology of his own. He can see the understanding in her eyes, the way she responds with an equally sad, almost pained smile. Seems as if they haven't lost that ability to understand each other without saying what they're actually thinking.

And they come to a silent agreement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was changed a lot during the different revisions because it just never seemed to be right. I hope the final version turned out well!
> 
> It follows episode 4.16 "Right next door" (but I guess most of you figured that out already ;)). There's also a short flashback to the last chapter and it's episode. The first line is from the episode.


	7. Refusing to Ask

What the hell had happened?!

These last days, no, these last weeks, maybe even months, had been hell. But she was really on the brink of insanity now. Sitting in that chopper was all but helping. The engine and rotor-blades were too loud and grating on her already raw nerves. Unfortunately, it didn't stop her from hearing her own heartbeat which was seemingly trying to rival the rhythm of the blades.

Suddenly she felt the vibrations from her cell rather than actually heard it ringing. While the rhythm of her heart picked up another notch she reached for her cell, hands shaking lightly. She knew it would be nearly impossible to understand whoever was trying to reach her, but she was too driven, too hopeful that it was him. Because if it wasn't she was one step closer to the brink.

There was no way she was going to lose him like this!

Somebody was trying to tell her something, but all she could hear was the sound of the engine and the blood rushing in her ears. Her chest constricted from anxiety and fear of missing the one clue that would bring him back to her. The call had to be important. Everyone knew she was on the chopper. They would try to reach her via radio not her cell. So maybe it was him. She tried again, telling the unrecognizable voice on the other end to repeat what had been said. It was just so hard to make out any voice at all, let alone the words.

"Mac?!"

Her heart skipped a beat and for a second she wasn't sure if she was only imagining things. It could have been nothing but wishful thinking; hope playing a cruel game with her. But by God she had hoped it wasn't. It had been ages since she prayed so hard and rarely had any of her prayers been heard. Taking him from her would be the last straw. She had lost so many people, so much family, she hadn't had a chance to get to know. If whichever deity that is watching her realm has any heart she won't take this last one from her – ever.

She needs him to be okay.

"Jersey City. Ah… Back side of the Statue of Liberty. Freedom Way."

Finally she managed understand his slightly slurred voice, making her happier than she could ever have imagined. He sounded weary and was stuttering slightly; as if he had to put some effort into forming those few words. But overall he sounded like he was somewhat cognizant. 'Alert and responsive' her brain offered. He didn't sound as if he was hurt too badly. Best of all, he was obviously trying to tell here where to find him.

Silently thanking every god she had ever known, she told the pilot to change direction. There was no more time to lose. She needed to see that he was really okay. He had called her. His first call out for help had been to her; not 911, not the lab, not Don. He had called her. She looked out of the window as if she could spot him sooner that way, even though she knew they were still too far away.

Somewhere in the back of her mind she recognized the wonderful colors the sun was painting through the skyline of Manhattan. Any other time she would have been awed. But today the view barely scratched her consciousness. She was way too occupied with his words that kept replaying in her head over and over again.

No verbs, straight facts and he had even struggled with those few words. She knew he wasn't all well and during the few minutes it took the chopper to get over to where he was, she was getting more and more worried. What if he had a serious injury? He could have been shot, losing blood. Losing consciousness! What if he had keeled over the second he had hung up on her?!

Just the day before, they had finally finished working a double homicide; after going for two days straight to get the bastard who had killed two poor little girls right next to a playground. This one had gotten to him, as did quite a lot of cases lately. Some of those cases had been way too personal for her liking too. First Drew, or Andy as she now knows, then Reed nearly getting killed by the Cabbie killer and finally those two little girls, dead for no apparent reason –only signs of another killer on the loose.

He had been tired when they had said their goodbyes in the underground parking lot last night. She had seen his fatigue; not only in his eyes, but in his whole posture. For a second she had thought about taking him home with her – or going with him, whatever he would have preferred. She knew that the close contact had always helped him to rest. But before she could even offer he had smiled at her and sent her to her own apartment for the evening.

Maybe she should have made sure he got some rest anyway.

Because when she had been on her way to work the next morning – an hour earlier than her shift would have started – he has already been at another crime scene. And this one happened to be in a bank, still in the process of being robbed.

How damn stubborn can one man be anyway?!

He was supposed to be at home – off duty – for the whole damn day! But instead he has gone inside that bank, unarmed, unprotected. Even without a vest! And that's what had made her even angrier as she had listened to Flack telling her the facts about this robbery gone south.

Male, white, quite on the edge, requesting a CSI to prove he hadn't shot the guy found dead in the vault. Bank robbery and dead bank employees were two things that were usually not mutually exclusive to one another. Okay, so she had thought the guy was guilty. Who hadn't? But then Mac, ever the good, honorable guy, had pulled one piece of evidence after the other out of that bank and somehow the supposed to be criminal turned out to be the victim.

Just to be proven a liar!

This day had gone right from bad to hell in a hand basket within less than two hours. And while the chopper still headed over to Jersey City all she wanted to do was to get to wherever her partner was and see to him getting the medical care he needed. That he would need some wasn't still a question to her. All because he'd decided to play hero again! No, that's not fair. It's a given he's not just playing. He's actually living it. And that makes it even worse! Because he has gone into that bank willingly so that somebody else would get out of it unharmed.

Instead he had been harmed.

Okay, so maybe he had been unharmed when he actually left the building, but the stuttering, the slurred words when he talked to her on the cell… She hadn't imagined that. He was hurt and that damn chopper was way too slow. Couldn't they just fly… faster… or something?! Her best friend was over there, probably hurt, maybe even bleeding out from a bullet wound. Because he was always too damn stubborn to allow that tiny bit of self-preservation even a Dodo would have shown, to rule over his code of honor.

That's just so damn like him! And someday it will also be the death of her – sadly of him first. Worst thing is, he doesn't even know what this is doing to her, doesn't see it. Or if he does, if he ever did, he's in denial; maybe even ignoring it. She had thought they were past this after everything they went through. They had known each other for about thirteen years now – before she joined the CSI, before he became her boss, before she became his partner and his friend.

Not to mention what they went through together after 9/11.

And what had he done today? He gave himself up to some madman with a gun. As if the man she put so much effort into practically nursing back to life wasn't worth it. Why was he still eager to give up everything? Protecting the city, protecting the people… that can't be all of it? Not that it would be a shallow reason. It would never be. It's a good reason, a valid reason and it would be so much like him. But… it was so damn frustrating sometimes.

Still looking out of the chopper's side-window she wondered if he would have done the same thing a year ago – when there had been somebody else he cared about. Of course he would have risked his life just the same during the raid at the lab, but that had been strictly business and they hadn't really had a choice in that matter. It had been either fight or be killed. So they fought – and thankfully none of them had been killed.

But would he have gone up to the 35th floor in exchange for a stranger then?

Yeah, she sadly admits. He would have. How could he not? It's in his nature. Protecting. That's what he does, that's what he is. She can't change that, nobody can. Peyton couldn't. Or he would have stayed in London; for her. So it's not really a mystery why he went into that bank this morning. Doesn't change the fact that something inside her still hurt thinking about how willingly he would have died.

She doesn't want to see him harmed.

When they finally arrived at where he was waiting, he waved at her. But when they started to land, he looked as if he could barely hold himself upright, even bending over shortly. They touched down and he walked away a few feet. For a moment she lost sight of him, her heart speeding up again. So when the rhythm of the blades got slower, she jumped out before the engine had gotten a chance to totally stop. Ducking low, she ran in search of her elusive partner.

She rounded the chopper and finally spied him sitting on the tarmac not far away, head bowed and one hand carefully massaging his temple. Definitely not alright, she thought when she carefully laid a hand on his shoulder and he didn't even flinch. She knelt beside him and watched while he slowly turned to her.

A bruise on the side of his head seemed to be the only obvious injury, but who knew what else might have happened. His shirt was soaked, so her first guess was that he took a dive. The how might have still been a question, but the where and when was rather obvious. They were not far from the waterline and since his clothes were still wet he had just crawled out of there.

Hopefully he hadn't been in there for too long. The water around this place was not really known for its mineral spring quality. Mineral maybe, but too often it was from the not very healthy part of the table of elements.

"You alright?" she asked concerned.

All she got in return was a smile and a tired nod. The fact that he was barely moving his head and his eyes closed involuntarily with the short movement told her enough to know that there was a major headache coming up. He's not very sociable with a headache on a good day… But then there was a chance the EMS would take him to the next hospital, where some doctor could tie him to a bed so that he got the rest he obviously needed.

Because it wasn't likely that he would listen to her this time.

He started to shiver slightly. Maybe the shock was setting in, maybe he was just cold; or worse. She wasn't sure, but all she could do right then was get him to sit down somewhere safe and warm him up as good as she could. Looking around for a moment she only saw one option.

So she helped him up. The way he started swaying as soon as he was upright was another dead giveaway. He definitely wasn't 'fine'. She put an arm around his waist and slowly guided him back to the chopper. All the while she looked him up and down for any further signs of him being hurt. Gladly, she couldn't see anything. No blood besides the head wound; no holes visible in his back or anywhere else. Maybe this wasn't so bad after all. Still her worries wouldn't go away. Something was off, she just couldn't put her finger on it yet.

He sat down heavily in the entrance of the chopper, still squinting, as if he couldn't see properly. Just another fact that added to her growing worry. All symptoms so far were pointing to a concussion. She's no doctor, but she has seen those before, felt those before. It's not something you should take lightly. Even less if you just came out of a hostage situation, took a dive and had to endure god knows what else in between.

While she kept an eye on him she hoped that it wouldn't take too long for the ambulance to arrive. He looked stable for now, without any obviously serious injury. But she had no way of knowing how severe this probable concussion was. Maybe he even had a skull-facture. There could be internal bleeding.

He could practically be dying right in front of her!

The pilot suddenly handed her his jacket and pulled her from her morbid musings. She knew she was working herself up more and more, but it was hard to stop herself from it. So she smiled and mouthed a thank you at the pilot before she put the jacket around her tired partners shoulders. His little nod in return didn't really ease her worry. She was still torn between being mad at him for going into that bank in the first place, being worried because he hadn't spoken a word since she found him and being proud because in the end he had saved the day again without any civilians hurt.

But he got hurt himself; that was bad enough.

She knows that they have this 'silent agreement'; this… fleeting moment when they just looked at each other and knew they couldn't go on like this anymore. She had agreed because she had known that he was right and that they had had to take a step back because they were getting too close to each other. Every little scratch was taking too much out of the sanity of the one who didn't get hurt. It wasn't healthy, she knows that – the logical part of her brain does.

Never-the-less when she saw him sitting there in that chopper, shoulders slumped, water still slowly running down his face, she couldn't help herself. She was worried. She was worried sick to be clear. Having an agreement to not worry that much anymore is one thing.

Making good on it is another one.

She still remembers the day she had agreed to this. It had been not that long ago, when she had been staying in his spare bedroom after her own apartment was burned down. She had known then as she knows now that she should have stayed away from his apartment; like she first intended to. A decent Hotel wouldn't have been too bad and she had actually checked in with one right after work.

But when she had been sitting on the bed, looking at the travel bag that contained everything she could salvage from her former home, a sadness and some kind of desperation had overcome her and forced her to get up and drive to where he lived.

Actually she had sat in her parked car in front of his building for quite a while. Probably an hour, maybe even more. Only then she had found the courage to get out. Following an intuition she had called a pizza takeout she knew Mac had frequently used when she had been over for a little friendship bonding movie night. Her calling for takeout hadn't been about the fact he rarely had more than the basic essential food at home; it was more of a peace offering.

Maybe more like a bribe.

And he had taken it, had taken her in, had given her a place to stay for the next days until she found yet another apartment. Only… after that first night she had woken up to find him in a chair beside her bed; watching her. For a moment she had been confused. Not frightened though. Any other man would have scared the shit out of her, sitting right there next to her bed and just… watching. But she could never be afraid of him.

And when she looked in his eyes she had seen a sadness she couldn't understand; until something had clicked and comprehension had dawned.

It hadn't really been a mistake to go to him. But they had reached a point, where providing too much comfort could lead to too much hurt. No matter how far they had seemed to drift apart from each other from time to time, when they were needed there were no questions asked. Never. And while for the casual bystander they were colleagues and for their colleagues they were friends, for themselves they had started to be something else. Something more and yet undefined. Without the intimacy of that certain kind of relationship.

They had arrived somewhere in-between and they couldn't cope with it.

While she watched the paramedic finally arrive and tend to him, the once definite decision to keep this agreement began to crumble. She couldn't stay away. Going back that step had seemed so easy when they were still in his apartment all these weeks ago. But she couldn't do it now. She couldn't let him hurt like this and just stand by; offer nothing more than a pat on the back. It was impossible for her to stay on that professional level. He was her best friend but more than that he was part of her family.

Suddenly the paramedic caught her attention again. The final verdict on him was simple: Minor concussion. He should go to a hospital and stay there for a night of observation. Fat chance of that happening… It's hard enough to get him to sleep and eat on a day way better than this one had been so far. And since she still didn't know what had happened between him leaving the bank and her finding him slumped on the tarmac, it was unlikely he would go willingly.

"What are my chances of getting you on that helicopter and to the nearest hospital?" She couldn't stop herself; she just tried, with a crooked smile, knowing his answer all the while. But instead of him, the paramedic answered that she had already tried that one. Obviously, with the same lack of success.

So when Flack walked up and identified the dead body they just got out of the crashed car as Derrick James, their primary suspect, the whole case suddenly got way more complicated. And her chances of getting her partner to do what he was supposed to do – namely rest – got a lot worse. He was going to deny his injuries and he was going to work with them until they had found their killer.

That he didn't remember what had happened after Joe told him to pull the car over didn't help. The fact that the case had to be turned over to Jersey jurisdiction was even less helpful. Her partner had looked more determined than ever.

Another case gone personal.

The hours following their return to the lab, everyone had worked on this case and nothing else. Everybody could see that he wasn't well, but none of them got him to go home and rest. Not even Sheldon's medical advice did anything. All they could do was work as good and also as fast as they could, because they knew that he wouldn't rest before they were finished.

Then her world began to crumble again when she found out that somebody shot at him and nothing less than a miracle could have been responsible for him not actually getting shot. Worse was that he hadn't told her. She had to find out by accident when she checked on the progress of the rest of the team! He had gone straight to Lindsay instead, telling her to find out what happened, why there was a bullet fired from a gun, a hole in his shirt but no gunshot wound on his body.

She still can barely believe he didn't have a scratch from the bullet.

To be honest, she had been just short of strip searching him to make sure he wasn't hiding any other injuries. The only thing that had held her back was that they were at the lab and people would get strange ideas from it…

That and the fact they still had a bank robber slash murderer to catch.

Twenty-nine hours, another sleepless night and one near-death-experience later they finally laid the case to rest. Thankfully Mrs. Scott, her perp's wife had decided to help them. Even if it was only so that her husband didn't get hurt. Well, she could understand the woman's feeling all too well. Although Mac was far away from being her husband, sometimes she felt just as possessive about him.

When she had seen her partner standing right in front of Joe – Evan Scott – on that train platform… there had been something in his posture. And although she couldn't hear what he told the man, she could see something that she hadn't seen very often.

He was angry; totally pissed off to be precise.

And that's when she finally understood why he had to see this case to the end, why he had to catch this guy so desperately. This wasn't just about the crime committed. He's always determined to catch their guy; in every case. No, this had been more. This really had been personal on a whole different level.

This was about Evan 'Joe' Scott telling him a lie of a family in danger, while putting two other people into the ground. Scott had played her partner. He played on his feelings; on his believe that this had been a man who was scared for his family, his wife who might be taken from him by an act full of greed and evilness.

It had been too close to his own history.

So sitting here now in her office all she can do is watch through the glass windows how he's still at his desk even after working for… she doesn't even remember the number of days. Had he slept at all since they were called to the crime scene near the playground? And if he hadn't, had he at least gotten some rest? Had he eaten something?

Did he even care?

Following her instincts again she gets up and walks out of her office. Her instincts had rarely faulted her before. So she decides to follow them again. But before she walks over to him she spies the candy machine in the corner of the hallway. She has seen him there often lately. Maybe he really had been eating, although it wasn't what she would consider decent food.

But it would have to be enough, because there's nothing else in the vicinity and – just as she had told Lindsay on her first day here – power bars were the known primary food source for every CSI at this lab. So she gets him one of the little chocolate muffins she knows he likes and finally walks over to his office.

He's slumped in his chair, the tiredness visible in the way he holds himself up – or lack of that. It seems as if he doesn't even hear her because he's not looking up, continuing to slowly sign some more paperwork. She's sure those could have waited till tomorrow; till he had a good night's sleep. This unawareness alone would have her worried any other day. But with what he's been through lately, it only fuels her resolve.

"Peace offering," she whispers and puts the muffin down on his desk.

Surprised he looks up and laughs slightly. She can't help but smile back when he takes the muffin and looks at it as if it's another piece of evidence. As if it's something he has to analyze to see its true purpose. Maybe he really needs to. But then there's not much purpose behind her being here and they both know that.

"You should go home and rest."

It's a try and she knows she hadn't been very successful with similar suggestions during the last two to four days. But then… the case is over now and he'd better go home before another case jumps out from behind the next corner. This is the city that never sleeps – even less those who have evil on their mind.

"I need to finish…," he starts to speak up. Not looking at her though, which tells her enough. He's avoiding it; like he avoided her eyes during the last days.

"No, Mac," she contradicts with more force than might be necessary. "No, you don't. You need to sleep. You've been up for… I don't know a week, maybe longer. Please! Go home and… and just sleep."

He's looking up at her now, a bit surprised because she rarely pleads with him. Not over something like this. Usually she's either in a no-nonsense mood or she just lets him be after his first half-asses refusal. As they agreed upon. This had been working for the last months – had been working before that too by the way.

"You know, I'm not sleeping that well…"

"Then rest, Mac. Just… think of yourself for a change."

So far he hasn't looked away from her and she can see something behind his eyes. Something he wants to say. But he doesn't. They know each other for such a long time; they tend to practically read each other's minds. Only now she's not sure what she's seeing. When she frowns and starts to say something herself, he finally looks way and shakes his head.

Right then and there she wants to take him with her because she knows he's not okay. Every fiber of her being is screaming at her, telling her he needs some comfort; someone to hold him and tell him that while he might not be okay now, he would be later. She has had this feeling before, but never so strong, never this definite. She knows he needs help and she wants him to need her to provide it. Maybe more than she needed him the last time.

"Mac…," she starts only to be harshly interrupted by him this time.

"No."

She watches in wonder when he closes the file in front of him and grabs his jacket. He smiles at her but his eyes are sad. For a moment that sadness even seems to push away the tiredness she saw there until all she could see was a man who seems to be in full misery. And he is refusing to accept her help.

"You're right," he finally answers, his voice not only quiet but also a bit hoarse and broken. "Have a good night."

With that he walks out and leaves her standing in his office. Alone. Surprised. Not sure if she should be glad that he's following her advice or worried – for the same reason. She watches him enter the elevator, locking eyes with him once more while he waits for the doors to close. The sadness is still there and this time she sees something else.

Regret.

It takes her less than three seconds to get to the doors and slide into the elevator. He looks at her surprised. She didn't even grab her purse – or her own jacket. No keys, no ID, no warmth if she's doing the wrong thing here. But right now she doesn't care. With determination she's looking at him, daring him to send her away again.

But he doesn't. Instead he sighs and shakes his head. She can see the understanding sets in. He's not going to get away from her that easily. They'll probably have to talk about this sooner or later. She needs to talk about this because she can't go on like that anymore. Deep inside she knows she needs this connection between them to stay the way it was before.

That silent agreement they made… she has to break it.

When they reach the parking lot she's not so sure anymore if she's doing the right thing. By breaking their agreement she's practically forcing herself on him. It's not like she's been hurt or injured. Still she needs to be close to him, to know that he really is alright. Because right now she wouldn't believe him if he told her so.

"Where…"

He doesn't finish the question, can't even look at her. His voice breaking on that single word and taking her heart with it. His refusal to look at her anymore tells her enough to know he won't fight her on this. But she doesn't know an answer to his question. So she just takes his arm and guides him to the car. Since she doesn't have her license on her she can't drive.

So it will ultimately be his decision.

They drive around for a while. She can see that he doesn't have an actual location on mind, since he's not driving in the direction of either his or her apartment. But she's not complaining. As she was thinking before… this is his decision. He has to make up his mind. And if they end up at the lab again, so she can get off and leave him alone. Then so be it.

But somehow they end up in front of his apartment building anyway. They sit in silence. While she's not sure why he decided for his apartment rather than hers, she's glad he has decided for either one. Because it means he won't send her away again. She looks up at the building from the passenger side window and waits for him to make the next move.

"You still have that 'no men in your home' rule… Right?" he asks suddenly; voice quiet, barely above a whisper.

She smiles and nods, although they both know that particular rule never applied to him. Of course he's a man too, but she would never be afraid of him. She doesn't need a safe place she can run to when she's with him. Because she's never had the feeling that she had to run from him. More likely for her to run to him.

They get out of the car and he's hesitating again. For a moment the doubt returns and she's not sure she's doing the right thing. In a way she's forcing him to ignore their agreement. But she needs to make sure that he's okay or she'll have another sleepless night herself. Suddenly his hand brushes lightly over hers when he takes a step forward. He doesn't take her hand, doesn't look back. Instead he walks up the few steps to the entrance without looking back at her.

So she follows him inside, determined to help him, even if he's still refusing to ask for it.

The silence continues on their way up to his apartment. Now that they're here she's not sure what to say. Silence had worked for such a long time, she's not sure the talking thing might work in their favor, too. When she looks at him, he looks just as tired as before and again her resolve hardens. She's not ready to let him be, let him wallow in this… whatever it is alone. He needs to rest and she needs to see him well.

When they enter his apartment he lets his coat fall on the floor and continues to the living room. For a second she's too stunned to follow him. Confused because this is not like him, she picks up his coat and hangs it up with her own. She knows this apartment in and out and she has never seen it dirty or untidy. Even during his darkest months he had kept it clean and spotless. It's something so ingrained in is being, he can't deny it even if he tried.

But today seems to be different because when she follows him to the living room she can see him nursing a half full whiskey tumbler already. When he hears her enter the living room he slumps down in the couch but doesn't look up at her. Again he's avoiding eye contact – his way of telling her that he doesn't want to talk - not if it involved actually speaking out loud.

"Do you think it's a good idea to drink that on an empty stomach?"

She knows he can hold his liquor but half a glass of whiskey is like triple the amount he would usually pour for a glass. And since one chocolate muffin doesn't count as a full meal, it will go straight into his bloodstream.

He still avoids her and instead takes a large gulp from the glass – another silent 'leave me alone'.

But she's here and he brought her here. If he had wanted her to really get away he would have taken her back to the lab. So she's not moving – either away from him or towards him. She can see the misery in him and she wants nothing more than to make it go away. If it wasn't for their agreement she would be over by the couch already.

"It's not working," she finally states when he lifts his arm to take another gulp.

He stops, but still doesn't look at her.

"No… it's not…"

"You shouldn't drink that fast on an empty stomach…"

"No… I shouldn't."

Still he lifts the glass to his lips and she sees another unhealthy amount of the amber liquid running down his throat. The glass is almost empty now but instead of taking that as a clue he gets up and walks slowly over to the cabinet. She can see in the way he carefully takes one step after another that he must already feel the alcohol invading his system. And the short amount of time it took for that tells her enough to know that he had barely eaten those last days and that he should really stop drinking right now.

"I'm a big boy. I can look after myself," he answers her unspoken thoughts.

If she could believe them, she wouldn't be here, though.

"I'll see what food you've hidden in your kitchen."

If he doesn't want to stop drinking, maybe she can at least make him eat something to counteract the alcohol he already ingested. That way he would also have to stop drinking – if only for the short while to actually eat whatever she might find in his fridge or cupboards. She sighs but still turns around to make good on her words. He doesn't stop her so she takes that as his consent.

Opening cupboards doesn't reveal anything solid though. Some cans with beans and peaches, a half empty glass of peanut butter that's all there is. So she takes a look at the fridge only to find it equally empty. What's with this man and the absence of anything eatable in his apartment? She knows he goes grocery shopping now and then. So how comes there's never something in here?

"How come there's rarely any food in your fridge?" she asks loudly but doesn't get any reply.

She sighs again and finally takes two slices of bread she found on the counter. Better than nothing. After coating them with the peanut butter from the cupboard she turns back to the living room. It's time for him to eat and it's time for them to talk.

Really talk.

Something has to give. They tried to stay away from each other and they agree that it's not working. So something has to change again – they have to change again. Although she has to admit, she doesn't know into what they will change this time. Because she has no idea what this is exactly.

"I can't go on like this, Mac", she tells him when she walks into the living room.

But again she doesn't get an answer.

He's slumped down even further on the couch. The whiskey glass is empty and lays on the floor beside him, obviously slipped from his failing grip on it. His eyes are closed and the even rhythm of his breathing is a dead giveaway. So she puts the plate with the sandwich on the coffee table before she steps closer to him.

"Oh, Mac…," she whispers before she sits down beside him. "Do you have any idea what you're doing to me?"

Carefully her fingers glide through his already messed up hair. His head rolls slightly to the side but he doesn't wake up. At least he's sleeping, that's something to be grateful for. But they still haven't talked about this and now that she looks at his for once relaxed face she's not sure she'll be able to do this in the morning.

"It's not working…"

She barely hears his whisper and this time it's her answering: "No, it's not."

"I'm sorry, Stella."

She smiles and ruffles his hair again. The little smile it puts on his lips is definitely worth it. When he slumps more against her she doesn't hesitate and pulls him even closer. She leans herself back against the armrest behind her and pulls him with her, so that he's lying on his side on top of her. His breathing is already evening out again and he's slipping back into a peaceful sleep.

Tender fingers glide over his cheek while his hot breath is tickling her neck. This feels so normal, so familiar. She closes her eyes and for a second allows herself to go back to all those times she had held him like this before. She's not ready to let go of all this; can't make good on their agreement anymore than he can.

If they can't change themselves to fit their agreement, the agreement has to change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is about episode 5.01 Veritas with little flashbacks to the last chapter and its episode in the first part. The conversation between Mac and Stella while she's in the chopper and when the EMT is tending to him is from the show as is the background storyline from that case. The rest is again my take on what 'really' happened and was just left out of the episode. (The case with the two dead girls on the playground is not in the show in case you were wondering…)


	8. Hushed voices

He sighs when he finally falls down on his couch. It's strange to feel that tired. His normal days were full of work and evenings like this, when he could just sit down on his couch and relax were rare. But today hadn't been such a day. Actually it had been a rather quiet day, normal in a way. With being a CSI, what's normal for him isn't particularly normal for most people though.

A sigh escapes his throat. How can he still be so tired? He had gotten a good amount of sleep last night. Better than most of his nights. But honestly there's no surprise there. Whenever she was with him he seemed to sleep so much better. Or sleep at all. His lips involuntarily curl into a smile. Yes, over the years he's developed quite an unhealthy insomnia. Only when he was with her was it all gone. It didn't really matter who needed the comfort anymore. Because lately the need inside him to provide the comfort was just as bad as the need to get some had been before.

Just being there for somebody again… he had missed this for so long.

It had never been the same with Peyton. To say that he hadn't loved her would be a lie because he had. A part of him still does. She had been there for him in her own way. A way where he could find rest with her as well – just not quite as good. And the biggest difference was probably that Peyton never really needed him in return.

And this feeling of being needed, to provide safety as well as comfort was something he hadn't known he was missing until he got it back. Thing was, he only got it back with his best friend, and only when she was hurt – not something he thought desirable. This whole thing had been going on for years now. Each one providing comfort or seeking it, time and again.

Only once had he tried to get out of this circle, frightened of what it could lead to.

It had been that first night after her apartment burned down. He knows that that was the first time he saw how close they had gotten. And they had been afraid of where this could lead them. At least he had been. He's still not sure if she ever had a problem with it.

That night, seemingly a lifetime ago, he had left his own bed and walked over to the spare bedroom. At first he had hesitated. But he had known sleep wouldn't come at anytime that night. There are so many things he could have done, should have done. Firstly he should have gone back to bed, tried to sleep. And even if he had known then as he knows now that sleep would still have eluded him, he could have… walked around his apartment. Remembering that night, he had thought about going for a run to calm down and get his head cleared. Only he hadn't wanted her to wake up and find herself alone.

He hadn't wanted to scare her like that.

So instead he had stayed, quietly watching her from the door of the spare bedroom. Until he had finally given in to his need for closeness one last time. He had sneaked into the room, had pulled a chair closer to the bed and sat down – watching her, watching her chest rise and fall while she slept the sleep of the innocent. It had calmed him more than any run at four o'clock in the morning had ever done.

She had looked peaceful, at ease, comfortable in a way he hadn't seen her before. Considering she had lost all her belongings mere hours before, he had been surprised to see that kind of look on her. Maybe he shouldn't have been. This was the woman who could calm him down with her very presence – every single time. It shouldn't be so farfetched for her to find peace inside herself once in a while.

Sitting there had remembered him of other times, when he had done just the same.

He had shoved the thought aside quickly, because he neither wanted to remember those times nor did he want to actually compare them to this occurrence. It hadn't been the same. Had it? He hadn't been so sure then, still wasn't. Although he now knows that the conclusion he had drawn then didn't work one bit.

When she had woken up in the morning he had already decided that he couldn't go on like this anymore. Out of desperation he had decided to take a step back. She's a friend, his best friend. Whenever he had a problem he knew he could talk to her. But at that time he hadn't felt as if he just needed to talk to her. He needed her in his life on a different level.

Only this is not what friends are supposed to feel for each other. It's wrong of him to expect her to be there for him whenever he needed a hug. Even friends needed boundaries. But he supposes that they had crossed those long ago. So he had decided to step back behind the line of friendship he had crossed at some point.

And she had agreed.

Then there has been the whole bank robbery fiasco. That one had really gotten to him, there's no point in denying it. And it has been the one time when his walls had almost crumbled. He has been so close to ask her to bring him home after he had crawled out of that water. All he had wanted at that time was a warm bed and an equally warm body next to him; to give him some semblance of normalcy back. To feel alive again.

Unfortunately they had had an agreement at the time…

So all he could do was to keep it together and pretend that everything was okay. All the while praying that she had actually bought his act. Obviously he wasn't that good an actor. Because she had looked right through him and had seen what he so desperately wanted to hide from her.

In the end their agreement had been broken and he got another peaceful night of sleep.

He's not sure if they had come to another kind of agreement the next morning because he had been way too afraid to look at her then. Afraid that he would see a totally different kind of exhaustion on her face. One day she might really be fed up with him; sick of taking care of him. Okay, maybe that was being a bit too abrasive on her. She wouldn't be fed up with taking care of somebody in need. Never if said somebody is a good friend. But still he's afraid that with every time he practically runs to her, he's also shoving her away a bit further.

Then, she suddenly stood in front of his door the last night

He didn't hesitate for a second, not even thinking about it. Taking care of her, making sure she's okay and safe has become a part of his life over the years. She looked frightened last night. Not of him thankfully, but frightened none-the-less. So he didn't really need to think about letting her inside.

That's the reason he didn't ask why she had come. He could take a good guess at why anyway. She had been attacked on her way home. When he had heard about it his first reaction was to take her home with him anyway. But she refused and he let her have her way. She's a grown woman…

Still she had turned up at his doorstep again.

Last evening went by pretty quick. Since he hasn't been at the store for a couple of days, his kitchen has been mostly empty. She often teased him about it but not yesterday evening. She was kind of subdued, making him hug her and to not let go unless he was sure she was back to the strong and self-confident woman he knew so well. So he ordered some Chinese takeout and they spent the rest of the evening in front of a quietly playing TV before they finally went to bed.

Together.

He didn't press her. In fact he actually started to offer the spare room. But one look at her still frightened eyes and he went silent again. She wasn't at his apartment to stay in his spare bedroom. The reason she came to him was because she needed someone she could be close to. So he remained silent and instead left the door to his bedroom open while he went to the bathroom to change for the night.

When he returned to his room, she was already in bed. Her back was turned to him, the blanket pulled up tightly to her shoulders. He didn't comment on it. Instead he turned off the lights and crawled in bed next to her. He lay on his side and watched her back rise and fall. The irregular rhythm of her breathing told him that she wasn't asleep yet.

Carefully he placed a hand on her back. Even with the blanket separating them he could feel the slight trembling in her body. His hand glided over her back to her shoulder and from there to her arm. Slowly he moved closer. He didn't want to corner her or do anything she didn't want him to.

But he couldn't bear seeing her like this.

This vulnerability was so unlike her. All he wanted was to take it away, to give her back the strength he had borrowed from her so many times. And since she didn't stop him he moved in even closer; until his front was firmly pressed against her back. She reached around and pulled his hand from her arm to her chest. For maybe a minute or two they stayed that way but then she turned on her back, his hand still holding close to her heart. She didn't look at him though. But then he saw a single tear slide down her cheek. So he freed his hand from hers and tenderly brushed it away. She closed her eyes and finally turned around, resting her head in the crook of his neck. Again his fingers caressed her cheek, brushing away some stray locks that had fallen over her face. With a little sigh he closed his eyes.

She had fallen asleep already.

At first he just lay there, eyes closed, reveling in the feeling of her soft body pressing up way too good against him. He was glad, that she came to him, even if it was for such an unlucky reason. She shouldn't be scared. It hurt too much to see her like that. But there's not much he can do about it besides being there for her, when she needed him.

He wishes he could have been there when she really needed him, when she actually was attacked, pushed down the stairs and shoved against a wall. He can't even begin to imagine what she had felt like at that moment. To be honest, he doesn't want to. Imagining what could have been is even more awful than what did happen. Unfortunately an attractive woman being grabbed and… well let's just say it wasn't that rare in New York.

And he got that kind of scare once already.

Gladly, she's not an easy victim and had fought back. But still she had been at his doorstep only two hours later, her scared eyes begging him to let her in. Something that she should never have to beg for, because she should know that he'll happily oblige. Anytime.

And now he's sitting here on his couch again. Just a day later and he's already missing her company. Which is strange actually because he sees her nearly every day. He works with her, they spend a good deal of time together every day, every week, year after year. And still he misses her here, at his home after only a day.

He slumps further down on the couch, trying to find a more comfortable position, because he's far away from being sleepy. That's the problem when you've got chronic insomnia… the few times you actually get some sleep will keep you up even longer on the days to follow. A fact he tries to embrace on any other day. Normally he would probably get his sneakers and go for a run or he would shower and then go back to the lab to finish some more work.

But not today, because he is actually tired. Just not tired enough to be sleepy.

That thought is confusing in a way and he's trying to narrow it down to why he feels this exhausted, when suddenly his doorbell rings. Surprised he gets up and opens it. But what he sees practically roots him to the spot. She's here; again. And to hell if she's not looking even more frightened than the night before.

"What happened?" he asked in an urgent voice while he pulls her inside.

When he looks her up and down he sees that she still has her laptop with her and he suspects she came right from the lab. If something happened there, why didn't she just call him? Why didn't anybody call him? Is it something worse? Is somebody injured? So many questions keep running through his head, giving him a hard time trying to sort out which one to ask first.

"I… I didn't know where to go. I should… I should probably have gone back to the lab, but…"

She's stuttering, stumbling over her own words, while she tries to articulate whatever has happened. Her hands are alternating between fidgeting with the strap of her laptop bag and talking a mile an hour without her actually saying anything else. She's clearly avoiding any eye contact, too. This isn't looking good. Something really bad must have happened.

But he's almost sure now that nothing happened at the office. It seems she wasn't even there. Question was why has she her laptop with her then? If this was work related it would have been more likely for her to call him from the lab.

Because he doesn't really know what to say or do, he does the only thing that comes to his mind and puts his arms around her. She immediately stops her rambling and just gives into the embrace. Her head comes to rest on his shoulder and he can feel her trembling slightly when her hands start clutching at his T-Shirt.

This is the first time he's seen her so frightened.

"What happened?" he asks again using an even more quiet voice this time.

She takes a deep breath before she finally answers him: "I saw him. The man that attacked me yesterday."

His grip tightens around her. Now it's him that's scared. Had that guy tried to get close to her again? But then she continues her story, telling him how she went to the Greek embassy to talk to the cultural attaché. That's where she saw her attacker, the guy that's supposedly an expert on ancient relicts.

He should have gone with her; she should have taken him with her.

But he's not telling her so. He can't really upbraid her for it. She's a very capable CSI and an equally capable detective. There's no need for her to call for his help whenever she's got a case of her own. Those times are long over. And to be honest… he would have done just the same. This is an embassy they're talking about. You wouldn't expect those people to attack women on the streets during the night. Not that all of them are saints. Far from it. But for the last seven years every political institution has upped their security. So you would naturally feel safe while being there.

"What's going on here, Mac?" he hears her anguished whisper.

Unfortunately he doesn't have an answer, so he keeps her in his arms and hopes that it's enough to calm her down. When he carefully asks, if she wants to stay for the night, all she does is nod in silence and burrow her face against his neck again.

He's not sure how long they stayed there in his hallway, but at some point she starts to get away from him. Instantly he lets her go, not wanting to corner her in any way. But she finally looks him in the eyes and smiles a little. It's not as confident as it usually is. Still it gives him hope. Hope, that her fear was just the shock of meeting the guy so shortly after he attacked her in the first place.

Because she's usually not a woman who gets spooked this easily.

Since he actually has some food in his fridge for change – even if it's only leftovers from the day before – he prepares something for dinner and they finally sit down on the couch. The TV plays in the background again, but he's not really paying attention. Instead he's watching her out of the corner of his eyes to see if she's really okay.

He's not sure of what he sees. While the evening goes on it seems as if she's calming down, getting back to her usual self. Actually she's looking so much better; he's contemplating offering to bring her home. She doesn't look scared anymore, she's even smiling again, a real smile. This is the smile he likes on her most. But offering her a ride home might seem like he didn't want her here.

He's far away from that.

"You tired?" he finally asks, trying to sound unfazed.

She doesn't answer, but gives him a small nod. And just like that the whole situation got a lot more awkward. What does he say now? He would like to recommend she take a shower before going to bed, but he doesn't want her to misunderstand that. It's just… she's been working the whole day and a hot shower might help her ease some tension. That's what's usually helps him anyway. He supposes it does the same for other people.

But then there's still the question of where she's going to sleep. Just because she shared his bed the night before doesn't mean she wants to do the same today. They both know that he has a perfectly well spare bedroom where she could bunk. Asking her if she wants to sleep there or in his bed could lead to an even worse misunderstanding! She's an attractive woman. He doesn't want her to think that he's… because he's not! He isn't. It's just that…

Why the hell is it suddenly so hot in here?

His heart is not supposed to beat against his ribcage like that. Not when it's about her. All he wants is for her to be comfortable, to feel safe. Always. It shouldn't be this embarrassing. It never had been before. He had been intimate with women he didn't know half as well. But he never had thought of her like that.

Not… explicitly.

"Could I… take a shower and… borrow a t-Shirt or something?"

"YES!"

This came out a tad bit louder and high pitched than he intended it to and the look she gave him was a bit confused to put it lightly. Since he can't think of anything to resolve this, he just jumps off the couch to get her some clean towels and the requested t-shirt. There's enough time to sort out how to cool down when she's in the bathroom taking that shower.

Alright, that was definitely the wrong thought to calm down…

What the hell is wrong with him today? Maybe it's this damn tiredness finally getting to him. Really, this insomnia deal had to show its side effects sometimes. It's just a really, really inappropriate timing for it. But then, maybe it's actually the fact that he did get some sleep last night. His body might be so used to sleep deprivation that his brain suffers from too much oxygen. Or something like that. He should check with Sheldon or Sid in the morning; just to make sure.

Then, she's suddenly right in front of him, dressed in one of his black v-neck t-Shirts, looking refreshed and smelling like… well his own shower gel. No surprise there. But it smells much better on her!

This is the reason he had felt like they needed more space in the first time.

She looks at him puzzled – probably wondering what's wrong with him. He's not so sure anymore if he wants her to sleep in his bed. Today he's kind of on the edge. But as if she knows how unsure he suddenly is, her arms come around him and during their second hug today it's her who's holding him.

It's her providing comfort, grounding him back to reality.

He closes his eyes while his heart rate plummets back to its normal rhythm from one second to the other. Why is he even worrying about it? They're friends; best friends. Even if he makes a fool out of himself… he's sure she'll forgive him and she won't misunderstand whatever he's saying. No matter how stupid he behaves.

"Come on", he finally whispers and guides her to his bedroom.

It's clear now that they both need this. So they lay down and he spoons up behind her like the night before, his arms still around her slightly trembling body. There's nothing left of yesterdays awkwardness. Nothing of the stupid nervousness he had felt just seconds ago. He can feel how tense her whole body still is, but he doesn't comment on it. That's all he can do right now. Wait and hope this will be all she needs to get some of that strength back he admires so much. While he burrows his head against the full locks in her neck he feels her slowly relax into his embrace.

"I'm sorry to bother you again so soon…"

He shakes his head against her neck and tightens his arms around her. Is that what she's thinking? That she's a burden to him? When he's been the one to seek comfort from her way more often than she had needed him? She has helped him so many times to get back to his feet. Some of those times he hadn't been sure he would ever feel whole again. He closes his eyes and whispers his answer against her neck.

"You never do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Episode 5.05 The Cost of living. There are no actual lines from the episode includes, although of course the background story with Stella getting attacked and meeting Diakos at the embassy is from the original script.


	9. Interlude

"I'm his next target, Stella."

This simple statement, given without as much as a hitch in his voice or any indication that he had been frightened… at all! It had scared the hell out of her. How could he say that with such a calm voice? Over the phone none-the-less. As if her day hadn't been bad enough already!

They had just found the second dead 'Mac Taylor' victim.

That dispatch-call would be burned into her memory forever. Her heart had practically stopped for a second. A female voice telling her that Mac Taylor had been found dead in a lobby... it had almost been too much. She had never driven so fast through the city before. She had only barely avoided hitting another car which couldn't get out of her way fast enough. Considering that she had broken every speed-limit, it was a bit surprising they arrived unharmed – only ten minutes after they had started.

That drive would usually need twice or triple that time.

Thankfully the victim hadn't been her Mac Taylor. Being alleviated of that fear had been an incredible relief – it still is. But finding the second victim with his name on the business card still made her uneasy. So the call to him was made on pure instinct – before she had even realized she had taken her cell out of her pocket.

But when he hadn't answered right away her heart skipped another beat.

In her mind she had already seen him on one of Sid's examination tables. She had known about this regular 'appointment' he had had every morning for about several weeks now. Well, everybody who bothered to check his office-schedule would know. But she had actually known what it was about. So the fear of finding him drifting in the pool, water red from blood had been very specific.

"Because he was just here."

This so hadn't been the thing she had wanted to hear right then. The image of him floating in that pool was nothing she'd forget anytime soon. And his calm voice wasn't helping either. He sounded way too unimpressed. This was his life, yet he had sounded as if this was somebody else they were talking about.

Okay, so the actual victim was another Mac Taylor. But that hadn't changed the fact that they still didn't know what was going on. One Mac Taylor victim was a cruel coincidence; two were a potential serial killer. And if that killer just wanted to see any Mac Taylor dead, then the threat to her Mac Taylor was all too real for her liking. Sadly it had seemed as if he didn't take this threat as serious as he should have.

He actually sounded kind of… weary instead.

Like somebody who has given up, who was tired of escaping from all those who wanted to see him dead. She knew he wasn't like that; deep down inside she knew he wasn't giving up on himself so easily anymore. He couldn't be. This was Mac Taylor. Her Mac Taylor, not one of the – apparently – twenty plus other men and women living in and around this city. No, this was the Mac Taylor who was responsible for their Crime Lab. The combat trained Marine Mac Taylor. The man who had survived the grief and pain of losing his wife.

He wasn't somebody who'd give up on life anymore.

So when she had arrived at 'his' scene, first thing she did was take a good look at him. But she couldn't see what was bothering him. He had looked normal, not tired, not exhausted; not really worried either. And that's what has been bothering her more than anything. Okay, this wasn't the first nut-job out to kill him, but he has seemed… way too detached. As if, this hasn't been personal at all. When, at least at that moment in time, it had seemed very much this way.

She had cornered him on the far end of the hall to make sure everyone else could get to work, take their shots, bag every fiber they could pick up. Because she wasn't ready to let any microscopic particle escape from their grasp when this was about her best friend becoming a target for a serial killer.

"Didn't see a face. Just black shoes."

There had been his typical way of telling clinical facts only. She had tried to find something in his face, his eyes, anything explaining how he could be so calm, when the guy who killed the other two Mac Taylors had just been there. But she couldn't see anything.

She was pulled back from her thoughts as he continued: "He definitely went through my wallet. But nothing's missing."

"Why would he take the risk?" she wondered.

This hadn't seemed like your typical everyday serial-killer. Not that there really is a typical everyday serial-killer. But it had still been strange. This was a public pool, everybody could come in there. A whole group of swimming students could have been there. The windows are large, giving the students at the ballet studio on the other side of the backstreet a perfect view of the place. It's definitely not a place to kill somebody unseen.

"Well that's just it, Stella. I'm here every morning, alone. For at least an hour."

Oh how glad had she been about this not very subtle reminder. She hadn't really needed that one. This is his little pet-project because he had gotten all worked up when the department medic told him, he should watch his weight. She's not getting up two hours earlier every day just to go for a swim. He could ask Danny or Sheldon or anybody else to keep him company. Friendship has its boundaries!

But then… if she had been there they wouldn't be talking like this because whoever was out to get Mac Taylors – hopefully – might not have considered checking up on this Mac Taylor at the pool. So keeping him company suddenly looked like a very good idea to keep him out of harm's way.

"Those two came in and he took off", he continued his story. Or should she consider that a statement?

"They see anything?" The question had taken her back to reality quickly.

She shook her head and answered: "No. Just somebody walking away."

And this had so not been good. Nobody had seen this guy – if it even was a guy. And they'd still been none the wiser. This could have gotten downhill from there really fast. Already she had been contemplating how to get him some protection. Of course he wouldn't go willingly, but she had won arguments with him before. And this was important. She wouldn't back down on this one, when his life was in danger!

"If this guy's plan was to kill you, we can assume he'll try again. So far the only thing you have in common with our two prior vics is your name."

She knew there was no real need to tell him that, but still she has felt better reminding him of how serious this threat was. Of course he has known this just as well as she did, but his indifference on the phone before has still been worrying her. The same indifference his face was still been sporting. He hadn't looked worried at all. If he showed the tiniest bit of worry it was not for himself but for all those people living in the city who go by the same name.

"If that's how the killer is choosing his targets we have to get to any other Mac Taylors before he does."

That's so like him. He's always thinking of other people first and himself second. Or anywhere further down, because sometimes she's not sure he considers himself important enough for second place. Thing is, he is important. He's important to her. And him not taking this as a serious threat to his own welfare… well that has been something she couldn't let slide and simply accept.

But his behavior continued during the next hours – doing nothing to elevate her worry.

He was calm and working this case like any other while she was in turmoil. Of course she had to keep it inside. She's his second and officially this case was her responsibility. There was no way she could allow her emotions to cloud her judgment and jeopardize this case; and his life with it. No, she would get to the bottom of this – if only to keep him far away from Sid's examination tables.

There was only one way to keep herself together, though. She had to do the same thing her partner already did – get detached. So she decided to do what he had once taught her during her early time with the CSU, go back to the beginning. Right then this meant to start with their first Mac Taylor victim. This seemed to work for a while.

Although it took her quite a bit of self-restraint to keep herself together.

Until they found the first clue that this could have something to do with car keys they had found. This was the first moment since she had gotten the dispatch call that she felt a bit relieved. If this guy had checked her partner's keys and he was still alive then there was a good chance, he would stay that way.

Or at least it would mean that he was not a primary target anymore.

She wanted to believe it, wanted this to be anything but a serial killer who's got an aversion against the name Mac Taylor. Because that way, her Mac Taylor was a lot safer. But it's hard to believe in something if you don't really have evidence to support it. Everything they had was circumstantial; no hard evidence, no real clue as to who was really behind this vendetta.

And hadn't it been her still way too calm partner who had taught her that lesson, when she joined the Crime Lab so many years ago? They don't do things on hunches; they follow the evidence because it's the only thing that will lead to the truth. And sooner or later the evidence would lead them just there. It almost always did.

Still the sickening feeling in her gut didn't go away for the whole day. They'd been working the case, turned every dust particle, talked to every Mac Taylor they could get a hold on. This was their first priority case and nobody at the lab thought about anything else. She's sure about that because she could see the worry in their eyes whenever they looked at their boss; covertly so he wouldn't see it. But for her it was plain in their eyes – as it must have been in hers.

What if he was wrong?

What if there was somebody out there either killing randomly everyone with the name of Mac Taylor or – even worse – wanting to kill especially him? This wouldn't be the first madman to try. If his track-record is any indication it's likely that it won't be the last. They all knew this and so they were all worried. Everyone except for him.

She hadn't understood it then, doesn't now. And by now this whole thing is thankfully over. In fact she's just sitting in her office finishing the last pieces of paperwork. And still that's all she can think about. The events of the day just keep replaying in her head over and over again. The fear of losing him is still there and she can't put it away, no matter what.

The what-if's are hurting too much.

This friendship of theirs, this almost relationship like bond, it's getting harder and harder to keep it at the same level. At the level it's supposed to be. They're stuck in-between… something. She doesn't know what it is and she's not sure she wants to find out. Because if she does, this could destroy everything they have – everything they ever had. And she's not willing to put that at risk.

After nearly a year she finally fully understands why he had started to put some distance between them after her apartment burned down. He must have seen it long before she did. It had been her that brought them back to this point. She had been the one who convinced him, that it was the right thing to do. That there's nothing to fear about it. Had it been a mistake? Normally this would be a clear no, but she's not so sure anymore. She knows, that he's currently the most important person in her life.

And she's not ready to give up on any part of that.

He's there whenever she needs him. But that might as well be part of the problem. You're not supposed to have nobody else but your best friend to turn to. It's bound to suffocate that friend sooner or later. They're both adults who should have a private life. Of course that private life would include their best friends – to a degree. But by now… it's starting to sometimes exclude everyone else.

It seemed as if they can only turn to each other anymore when they're hurting.

That's not a bad thing, she knows that. But there's this… undercurrent, this little pitch in the tone of her voice when she tries to get him to eat or to go home and rest. And when she's thinking back at the weeks since she last stayed over with him… she missed the familiarity they had shared then.

So finding a second Mac Taylor dead and being confronted with the possibility that there was another Andy/Drew or whomever out there who's out to kill him… maybe it had just been the final straw. Besides, whatever it is that's suddenly between them, there's probably some office protocol it would go against.

What a mess! How did they end up like this?

She remembers her phone call with him earlier that night, when he told her: "You should make the most of the moments you share with the people you care about."

People she cared about… there are a lot of those; everyone at the lab to a certain degree. Lindsay, like a little sister, besides her being a friend by now. Then there's Danny, the lovable brat from next door who likes to pull pony-tails, but can easily be forgiven for it because he's mastered the puppy-dog-look before his first birthday.

Sheldon and Sid – more friends without whom she can't imagine work anymore. Sid is like a father for most people at the lab. She often suspects Sheldon to look up at him in that way, although he's a fine doctor and an equally good CSI himself.

Then there's Adam the typical lab geek; most of the time too shy to speak to anyone from the opposite sex, but adorable in his own way. First thing that used to come to her mind, when she thought about him was a little puppy that needs some serious caring attention. But lately he had developed into a valuable source of information and morphed into a more self-confident young man.

Don, another brother-kind of friend. But this one often acting more like a big brother than a little one – which he should be age wise. Probably because he actually has a little sister who likes to get into trouble. She can still remember how they brought him out of that bombed building two years ago. It's hard to see anybody like this but it's even harder if it's a friend.

She doesn't want to see any one of them harmed.

And last but not least there's her best friend of thirteen years now. One of those twenty-plus Mac Taylors in this town. She can't deny that of all those people she's working with he's the one she cares about most. Maybe it's because they've know each other for such a long time; because of what they had endured together, what they had lived through and survived together. But no matter what the reason, it's there and she's not willing to give up on it. So she grabs her cell and slowly switches it open.

Thinking back to the phone call she's contemplating driving over to see if he's alright. He had put on the mask of 'I'm fine' too often when he wasn't. She's not sure that she can trust him on it anymore. On the other hand… he's a grown man and he did sound alright this time.

"You should make most of the moments you share with the people you care about."

Yes, he's right. She should. And making most of those moments doesn't mean to have more of those moments overall. She smiles and looks at her cell. He's on speed-dial one; just two clicks away. It's easy to call him. They could go out for dinner or something. Have some fun without actually calling it a date. But then… she could just leave him alone for a while.

From time to time even best friends need some space and she should be the one giving it to him – and herself.

There's no need to comfort him or get some herself today, so she should go to her own home, make some dinner, watch TV and then go to bed. Or she should go out for a change. Have some fun at a bar, get to know some people. Someday she has to start dating again. Probably.

Maybe it will even help her to occupy her mind and keep the normal friendship-level with her best friend.

So she closes her cell and puts everything together on her desk. Whatever is unfinished now can wait till tomorrow. It's time for her to get out of here. After all she can't be a bad example for her co-workers. Especially not for her partner. He went home on time for a change. Maybe he's even sleeping properly tonight.

So… she should do the same.

When she's on her way out she suddenly spies a lonely figure in front of a couple of screens. She frowns and wonders why he's still here. His shift had supposedly ended two hours ago and there was no currently open and urgent case he was working on. Not anymore; thankfully. She remembers the budget cuts, how he could have been gone so fast without her ever knowing what happened.

Worse… she would have let him go.

If it had only been the decision between these DNA analyses stations and seven lab tecs, she would have let him – them – go. Until she came up with this idea of giving up on their vacations. Because in the end… letting them go was just another way of losing somebody who's important to you, right?

"Hey! What are you still doing here?" she suddenly asks.

He looks up surprised for a moment. Then he answers with some embarrassment in his voice: "Oh, some friends of mine stood me up for pizza. So just down on top of things, ya know."

She smiles and is not sure if he really had a date with them to begin with. Sometimes he doesn't seem to be the guy who's got a lot of friends. But then he's really quite sociable when you get to know him, so maybe she's wrong. Meaning he had more of a social life than she does.

Which is kind of creepy…

Maybe this is a hint from some deity, but she suddenly has the feeling as if she should change that. She had just been told that she should make most of the moments she gets with the people who're important to her. Well this young man here is important; in his own, very unique kind of way.

"Mind if I join you?"

He seems puzzled for a moment again, but then he gladly makes some space for her and he shows her, what he's really been doing. The idea is intriguing and so they start digging around in the computer files to see how many of "them" are out there. The thought that there are other people out there, having the same name as you have…

She hadn't thought about that during the whole day.

Twenty-plus Mac Taylor and everyone was different – most of all different from hers. How do you feel if you ever meet somebody with your name? Is it some kind of… connection or is it just awkward? She can't really imagine how it would be to meet another Stella Bonasera. They could even be related, if only very distant. It's strange how that thought never occurred to her before.

She looks at the screen and sees the list for three Sheldon Hawks on it, while her young accomplice tells her that he already found ten Danny Messers. Hopefully they're really different from each other, because at that moment she can't imagine having ten of them around here. Oh, she likes him, he's sweet – most of the time – and he has a wicked sense of humor. But he can be trying to say the least. Of course he's also from a tough neighborhood. You probably don't make it out of there and into police academy if you're not special in a way – even or maybe especially if your father's been a cop himself.

"There's also another six Adam Rosses and there's eighteen in New York state. I was just sitting here wondering, you know, what do they look like or what kind of lives do they live, you know?"

So he had actually been thinking the same thing. Well, it's probably natural to think about it. She's quite sure her partner had thought about it at some point during this day. But then, maybe he hadn't because he actually met some of those other Mac Taylors; he knows what they're like. He even looked one of them in the eyes while the guy admitted to killing a gifted young woman with his car; and was consequently responsible for her boyfriend killing two Mac Taylors and hurting another one.

Suddenly she wants to know. She knows that she's never going to go out there and actually meet these other people, but she still wants to know. Because maybe this could feel like some very distant relative. One that you never visit, never write, never call, but you just know she's out there and you could contact her, if you just wanted to.

"Alright, what about me?"

He types in her name and starts the search. It doesn't take more than two seconds, before the answer is right there on the screen. One Result found and that one record is clearly stating that there's no other Stella Bonasera living in New York City. None other than her. It's not the answer she was hoping for deep down inside. But to be honest it's also not an answer she can't live with.

She never had a family. So she didn't really expect to change all that with one simple computer search. If it would have been that easy, she would have done so a long time ago. But still it's strange to see it on the screen. Everyone has a double out there; everyone but her. That makes her kind of lonely.

Like that single line on the screen right in front of her eyes.

"There's only one", he suddenly states and looks away from her.

She has to smile at that. The way he said it…he cares. They all do. All of those people she holds dear, they care about her too. So she's not alone; not really. And there's not only one person she can trust to help her when she needs somebody. As she will always be there for them. She doesn't need any strangers who happen to have the same name she has to have some feeling of family anymore.

There's a family for her right here, with her friends.

"Trust me, that's enough."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is episode 5.08 My Name is Mac Taylor. The spoken conversation between Mac and Stella at the beginning and the one between Stella and Adam at the end are directly from the episode. Everything else is – as always – my take on how Stella might have lived through that day.  
> This one wasn't included in my original outline of the story and therefore stands a bit besides the other chapters – hence a title that doesn't go with the theme. But after watching this episode again I had to include it because it's one of two episodes hinting at the depth of the friendship between Adam and Stella.


	10. Foreign Sighs 1

It's been nearly a week now since his second – or was it the third already? – personal nightmare had started. He could never have imagined feeling like that… ever again. But he had felt that way and that's what still scares him. Because he shouldn't feel like that about her. Of course it's natural to be afraid for your friends, but the kind of fear he had felt this time, had been rooted way deeper inside him. Rooted in a corner of his being he had thought to be abandoned for a very long time.

And that's what had frightened him most.

Worst thing is he was not without guilt about this. He had pushed her away. In a way it had probably been his fault that she had ever started to go whale hunting in the first place. If he hadn't forbidden her to investigate Diakos maybe this guy would never have become her Moby Dick. So it was wrong to put all the blame on her, because he was just as guilty; maybe even more because he hadn't seen what was happening.

Now it's too late to put blame on anyone and he doesn't really want to either. He's simply glad the whole thing is over. All that's left now is putting this behind themselves. He's quite sure she's not really alright because he can practically feel the tension oozing out of her in waves. She's way too uptight considering they're on their way home. It's clear that he should say something, do something, but he's not sure what was the right thing to do. Or for that matter, the right thing to say.

This whole case had become extremely personal for both of them.

Last week he couldn't have imagined how it would feel to come to work and know that she won't be there. It's ridiculous, really, because it's not that rare for them to work separately, not seeing each other for days at a time. But whenever she's off-duty while he is working or working at the other end of town, he knows that she'll be in the office later. Maybe a shift later, maybe a day, maybe a week because she actually took some vacation time. Her being part of 'his' lab is a constant in his life. He couldn't imagine it any other way. He doesn't want to.

But he had come very close to changing all that; and this had all started with him yelling at her.

"You lied to me Stella!"

He had been so furious then. It wasn't just the fact that she had lied to him. Okay, so he had been angry about it, but it wasn't the one thing that had made him furious, spitting out words he would never have said otherwise. But sometimes she had this way of driving him crazy.

And this time she had gone too far; she had put herself in danger.

For months she had undertaken this investigation without him knowing. It hadn't been about the lie; it had been the fact that she didn't trust him enough to help her. She hadn't trusted him to get Diakos for her. That had been his job since he took over the case. Instead she had walked off, had gone over his head, took the case and with it justice in her own hands – in gross violation of every procedure he had ever tried to enforce in the lab.

This had been totally intolerable. She was a senior detective, a detective first grade. You don't make it to detective first grade at her age without being a great investigator. She should have known how to handle this case, what to do and more importantly what not to do.

"It wasn't my intent!" she had answered to his accusations, desperation coloring her voice.

"Then why didn't you tell me you found Sebastian Diakos dead?!"

Really? What good had it done her to keep it from him even then? The guy had already been dead. She could at least have confided in him then. He might have been able to help her out. But none of that mattered anymore when they were standing in his office, eyes blazing because he was highly pissed off with her. Mostly because he didn't see any signs of her accepting how much she had screwed up.

"I had to find out from NYPD communications," he had continued. And really, this was probably what had made her lying even worse. If it hadn't been for the communications department to give him the original tape from the call… he might never have known. "I gave you a direct order. To leave the Diakos investigation to me. You chose to ignore it."

"I made a decision Mac and frankly I would make the same decision again. I got a tip that he was on the move; so I took action."

She had seemed so self-confident in that moment, so sure that she had done the right thing. But she hadn't and she just had to see that. This had been bigger than a lie, this had been about trust. A trust she hadn't put into him when she decided not to tell him about her investigation; or about her finding her white whale dead.

"What you did was make it personal."

"It is personal, he tried to kill me!" Her answer had come out quick and angry.

Only he had been angry too because she had been careless, reckless even. She had put her life on the line. And although he knows very well how it feels to have somebody out there trying to kill you, how much you wish to get to him and finish it, so that no innocent bystander could be hurt… she had chosen the wrong way to handle this.

She should have confided in him; it's as simple as that.

"You stepped way out of bounds on this one and you know it!" he had yelled back equally loud at her. "You're a detective and you make an anonymous call alerting the police to Diakos apparent murder?"

And really, that had probably been the most imprudent thing she had ever done! He would have expected her to come up with something better. You don't go out there, find the body of your nemesis and then call in the troops. She's a clever woman, she should have known to get the next homeless guy from the streets to make the damn call! Okay, so that wouldn't make it any more righteous but at least it wouldn't leave him to deal with the mess this left behind. Anything would have been better than her leaving evidence that could very well incriminate her in the Diakos killing.

That had been so… stupid!

"That's grounds for suspension or at least…" He had been so furious; he hadn't even been able to think of a proper punishment. So he had spilled the first thing that had come to his mind no matter how stupid: "A desk assignment."

That had been the moment he had known he had to calm down. His feelings had begun to float way too close to the surface. He hadn't wanted to punish her because in a way he could understand why she did it. He still couldn't fathom why she didn't confide in him but he understood why she had gone whale hunting in the first place.

So he had taken a deep breath before he finally asked her the one question he had needed an answer to more than everything. His voice was pressed and hoarse and he's still not sure how he managed to actually say the words.

"Do you have any idea in what position you put me in?"

During the following days he had never been sure if she ever understood what his anger had really been about. But maybe it's better she's still thinking this had all been just about her undermining his authority. Because frankly the truth sometimes scares the hell out of him.

She had looked him straight in the eyes, showing more determination than he had ever seen in those green emeralds. Her voice calmer than before, but the anger more than present, she had answered him.

"Oh yes I do! You know what. I'm gonna make this easier for you."

With that she had taken her badge out and put it on his table. He could only stare at it, while she turned around and stormed out of his office. This had been the point where his own personal hell-hole had opened right below him. She had just turned her back on him.

Had he known then that this would only have been the beginning of his nightmare, he would have run after her. Actually, by then he had thought the worst part was over. He hadn't known how he was going to make things right between them, even less how he could get her back on the job. But somehow he had never doubted that she not only would come back but they would make this up to each other.

Their friendship isn't so shallow as to not be able to live through an argument, no matter how bad.

Only an hour later his anger had somehow subsided. Work had been calling out to him again. A seemingly 'normal' homicide in Central Park. Well as normal as a homicide during a classical Greek play could be anyway.

To be honest this might have been the first homicide he had ever been called to, that he had welcomed. Not because of the man found dead. When he had first arrived he hadn't known who the guy was. But it had been a more than welcome distraction from the fight with his partner. Everything to take his mind off the fact that she had walked out on him.

Did that make her his ex-partner?

Anyway, from one second to the other this had all taken such a turn to the dark side, it almost floored him. If it hadn't been for Don and Sheldon being there… he's not sure he could have held himself together like he did. Because when he searched their victim, he found an address. And finding this address on a dead body was nothing he would ever feel comfortable with.

'1241 Chambers, Apt. 3G', written in hasty letters on an almost carelessly crumbled piece of paper. It had seemed so innocent and when he had looked at Sheldon he had known that it wouldn't mean anything to him – or Don.

Too bad it had meant almost too much to him.

Because this had made an already dreadful day worse. This stupid piece of paper hadn't just meant he had to call her, less than two hours after she had left him standing in his office like an idiot. It had also meant that she was connected to whoever this guy was.

So he had gotten up and turned away to make the call. He had to know the truth. And if she wasn't willing to give it to him, he would have to do this on his terms. By then he hadn't even been sure if he was still angry with her or actually more worried now. Probably both. Although he's not sure which one had been stronger.

She had ignored the first three of his calls, so when she had finally taken the fourth one he had barked at her to come to the park ASAP and hung up without waiting for an answer. He had known too well that if he had given her any opportunity so say something, he would have gone ballistic.

This had been a homicide and their victim had had her home address in his pocket!

Damn it! He still gets angry thinking about how close he had come to losing her. It's just as he had told her after she had finally confessed everything about her investigation to him on the steps to the park: whoever had killed Kolovos might just as well be the guy who had saved her life. Only, he hadn't been so sure that whoever had killed Kolovos would stop there. So the 'saved' part had still been in question.

It had been just as likely that she was still the next target. In fact it had been highly unlikely that this whole thing was over. Somebody had felt the need to kill a wanted, highly skilled and equally dangerous smuggler. So it had been very possible for her to be the next target. Which had made the whole thing more worrisome for him by the second. But she hadn't wanted to hear anything about it.

Instead she had went off and left him behind; again.

He had known she wouldn't let this rest, not before it was finished. But there had been nothing he could have said or done to stop her. So all he could do was find the guy who killed Kolovos and hope that this would not only make her see reason and come back, but would also result in her being safe again – for real.

Only he couldn't find the guy. Everything they found at the scene or put together was either pointing to Greece or not pointing in any specific direction at all. This whole investigation had been terribly slow for his liking. He knows now as he did then that everyone at the lab had worked as fast and as hard as they could. Everyone had been worried about her, although nobody had dared to actually ask him why she wasn't included.

Maybe they had assumed it was her day off or that she was excluded for some other reason; maybe they had known the truth. He's not sure which one and he doesn't want to know. Because he's actually glad that nobody asked. To be honest he's still not sure what he would have told them. Probably the truth, but then this would mean, her coming back would have been mightily awkward.

So he's glad he didn't; it means they can return and just get back to their life.

And the last thing he wanted was for her to feel wary about returning to work. In his mind there had never really been any doubt as to whether she would be back. He can't imagine working everyday knowing she's not around. The day she really walks out on him for good is a day he dreaded for a long time.

Maybe that's why he can't imagine it. It's his worst fear, a fear he can't really explain. So in the end it is for the best that nobody asked. Now she can simply return to the office and they can all get back to work as if nothing happened. They can return to being partners again. And friends, that's maybe even more important. They can get back to being friends.

Just like they always were.

He carefully fingers the badge in his right pocket. It's been there since the moment she had put it on his table. He never really got the nerve to put it away. It would have been too final. As if he admitted that she would really leave… the office or… She can't leave like this. He won't let her!

The woman besides him shifts slightly. Her head is resting on his shoulder, her hand firmly grasping his arm as if she's afraid to let go. He knows she's not and it's probably just his wishful thinking. She's not easily frightened and even if the last days had been really hard and some of it outright terrifying for her, he knows how tough a woman she is. There had only been very rare occasions when he had ever seen her scared. But still, he revels in the feel of her hand on his arm, her head on his shoulder.

Her warm breath, tickling the skin on his neck.

"What are you thinking about?" she suddenly whispers.

He smiles slightly and rests his head on top of hers before he whispers back: "That you're asleep, actually."

She giggles softly then tightens her grip on his arm.

"I'm sorry, Mac", she continues. But when he starts to disagree, she adds: "I'm sorry, I didn't confide in you earlier."

"It's okay."

His voice is hoarse and darker than he wants it to be. But his emotions are still too raw; the fear of losing her is too fresh. During the last days there had been so many moments, when the actual fear might very well have become reality… Not just losing her to some killer, to a bullet, a knife, a… dagger or whatever else they might have dug up from Alexander's grave. It's been more, more that's been stabbing at his heart all the time.

She had left him – willingly.

This is the whole truth behind it. She had not only left her job, left the office. No, she had to go a step further and leave the country for Christ's sake! Why did women always run away to another country if they're mad with him? Like some kind of big karma thing. If it is, someone up there is really mad with him for reasons he can't fathom anymore.

Getting to Greece the day after he heard about her purchasing that ticket had only been possible by pulling several serious favors. Some of the guys he had to call and ask for a visa and connections to local jurisdictions, he hadn't talked to for years. And most of those were not really thrilled to hear of him again. But a little reminder of how and why they had met in the first place had been enough to get him on that plane in less than five hours. Combined with roughly nine hours of flight time he had made it to Greece in less than a day; not knowing what would await him or how she would react to him being there.

And through all that time – even now actually, he's never been sure if she knows how much her leaving like that had hurt him.

During this whole investigation of hers, she had kept secrets. She had trusted Angell rather than him. And after she had finally admitted everything to him, what had she done? She took off to Greece on the next plane to settle this on her own. Again she hadn't trusted him. He would have gone there, he would have found the answers for her.

Looking back at the events of the last days, he has found answers for her.

Although he hasn't been so sure about what good he could do when he arrived in Thessaloniki nearly three days ago. All he had been focused on then was finding his elusive partner and bringing her home – because her staying away forever was something he couldn't really imagine. To be honest he hadn't cared all that much about the professor or whatever the man had smuggled out of his home country. The only reason he has been there was for his friend – and the intent to make up with her and make sure she'll be back at work as soon as possible.

Where she belonged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think it's quite obvious which episode this is, but for those who're not sure. It's 5.24 Grounds for Deception. The spoken dialogue during their fight is from the episode, as is the rough storyline.


	11. Foreign Sighs 2

"The woman over there looks very much like this woman in your photograph."

That's what Areti Moungri, the woman from the Macedon Museum said, when he asked her about the 70s restorations group. He's surprised actually that she had been the first one to notice - the first one besides him that is. Okay, maybe the others at the lab just hadn't wanted to say anything. Because one look at the picture and he had known that there must be a connection between the two women.

The resemblance was uncanny; the only difference between the two being the hair color. While Stella's hair had an auburn color, her mother had had light blond hair. Both looked stunning, their equally green eyes daring whoever watched them to offer a challenge. He knows this face inside out, no way he wouldn't have seen the resemblance.

So her little statement, thankfully hadn't taken him by surprise.

When he turned around he could see her standing only a couple of feet behind him; clearly not expecting him to be there. Well, he hadn't expected to fly to Greece anytime soon either. So maybe it was only fair that she had been just as surprised about it as he had.

Throughout the whole flight he had thought carefully about what he would say to her when they met again. He had known that explaining his presence could wait, as would any discussion about why she had left without so much as a note– not that he would have felt better about this if she had. So the nine hour flight over there had been a good opportunity to think clearly about what he would say to her first. Actually he had come up with a really, really good line – something that wouldn't make her turn around and run right away; something snarky and yet funny enough to make her smile

He wishes he could have remembered it when he met her again in front of the museum. Because all he could come up when she has been standing in front of him was a really lame: "Hi."

Obviously he had surprised her with that. And at least it has been non-offensive enough to not make her run. Instead he had gotten an equally simple reply. If Temmas and Moungri had thought that anything was wrong about it, they didn't let it slip. Not that he would have understood them anyway. So he put on his poker-face, something which she had soon picked up on and played along.

At least some part of the connection they've been famous about had still been there.

"Stella, this is … uh, Areti Moungri of the museum; Christos Temmas of the Greek Intelligence Authority", he has explained, face still as straight as possible. Because this was his investigation again. And if she wanted any part of it she had to understand right then and there that they'd be playing on his terms from then on.

To make sure she knew what to say and not to say he looked her in the eyes and dared her to contradict him with anything he said: "I came here straight from the airport. Why don't you tell them why we're here?"

Okay, he admits he hasn't been fair with her then. But she has deserved a little payback for taking off like this; without telling him or anybody else where she was going and why. Not to mention that she had put herself in danger by following the very man they suspected of killing Kolovos.

"About the artwork", he elaborated when she hadn't reacted right away.

And that's when he had seen the understanding dawn in her green eyes. For a second he had been hurt because again she had doubted him and his resolve to help her. When he finally saw that understanding again he had hoped it would also be a sign of them finding themselves back to that place he had always felt so comfortable at.

He has wanted them to go back there so much that it hurt.

In retrospective it's hard to say what took them apart in the first place. In a way he wanted this to be only about her single handed investigation and finally going AWOL. But deep inside he knows it's not just that. Slowly, there had been a rift starting to build up between them. Since when? He's not sure and even now that he knows he's got her back on this plane and they're going back to New York together there's still some doubt inside him. Doubt, if they can return to that comfortable companionship where he doesn't have to think about how to phrase his words, so that she won't misunderstand him.

They're better than this.

So when he had seen her understand the warning he couldn't say out loud, his hope was back. This has been the moment she knew he wasn't there to punish her or to bring her back to the States before she could see this case to an end. She should have known this before; without him having to fly halfway across the world. But better late than never.

So she played along and after some awkward moments as well as a formal reminder from the local intelligence guy they were released to go. Not that he had expected them to actually roam free around the city… that's why the fact that Temmas had put a detail on them didn't come as a surprise. Actually he would have been disappointed if Temmas hadn't done it.

All that mattered to him at that moment had been them leaving though; preferably together. Although he has to admit, he hasn't been all that sure the authorities would let his partner walk free so easily. To be honest, he had contemplated putting cuffs on her before. That way she couldn't run away. Gladly there hasn't been any need for it because she seemed quite content to go with him.

The first sign of her trusting him again. She actually has seemed to feel comfortable with him being around; maybe even a bit relieved. Of course this might have been his imagination, although he's quite sure it wasn't. She had been glad to see him there. One more thing to be thankful for. But right then there hadn't been the time to dwell on it, because they had more important things to do.

To be precise he had more important things to do. Namely, solve this case, find the professor, get him back for trial and – last but not least – get the woman besides him home. So he had started to explain what they had found so far. He told her about the dagger and how they suspected it to come from the lost tomb of Alexander the Great. Of course she hasn't believed him right away. Only after some detailed explanations he has seen at least some doubt in her eyes. Nobody could have denied the facts their team had gathered. The chemical makeup of the soil, the fingerprint; everything was pointing to the professor and a tomb that hadn't officially been found yet. But even with all that she had trouble believing him.

He's still not sure how he should feel about this. Okay so she knows the old man way longer than she knows him and the guy is probably something like a father figure to her – a place he doesn't want to occupy anytime soon by the way. But he can't feel anything besides being hurt by how willing she has been to trust the professor on nearly everything. Why hadn't she trust him just the same when he had told her he would take over the case? Why hadn't she believed in him?

The only consolidation he had while they were walking around town, discussing the case was that he could see in her eyes how sorry she had been for it. Again it has given him hope that they were on the right path – back to where they belonged.

Preferably also back to the States quite soon.

That's when this little bit of truth has slipped over his lips before he knew it: "This isn't about my job or the department."

She has stopped at this and looked at him questioningly. So he had taken a deep breath. If they ever wanted to get past this fight, past the awkwardness, past all this doubt and get the damn elephant out of the room… he had to tell to her.

"It was difficult because I care about you."

There; there it has been. The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

"Thank you."

He still wonders if she really got all implications his remark could have had. To be honest he's not sure what implications he has wanted to be in there. It has been one of those… spur of the moment remarks. The kind of remark you don't think about, you just blurt it out and hope nobody notices how much a fool you just made out of yourself – especially when you got a reply like 'thank you'.

Of course he cares for her. They've known each other for more than ten years, going on fifteen – and have been friends for most of that time. He knows she cares for him, too. If she wouldn't, she'd never had put up with him for so long; would never had stayed with him when he needed her.

And she would never have come to him when she needed comfort in return.

That's why it has been so hard to tell her the rest of the truth; this other truth. The one he had been carrying with him since he left New York. He had to tell her about the photograph, about how the professor came to New York all those years ago. But the hardest thing had been to tell her about her mother; about the fact that the professor had known her and lied to her from the day she had met him.

"The professor said he didn't know my mother. I mean… if this is her, why didn't he ever tell me?"

She was angry and disappointed. Not with him thankfully, but with the man she had considered her mentor, her friend; her… protector. There has been no answer for all the questions he saw flickering over her face. He didn't know why the professor did what he did and now they never will.

"It's tough for me to tell you now. Can't imagine telling a young girl," he had mumbled.

Another truth – the only one he could offer her at the time – and again she had simply nodded; understanding what he tried to tell her without actually saying it. That he didn't mean to hurt her, but that he had to tell her everything. And thankfully it seems as if this has also been the moment she remembered to trust him, remembered that he wouldn't willingly hurt her. Because he isn't sure what he would do if something like this ever happened again.

He never wants to get up in the morning, not knowing where she was and if she was okay.

But instead this has been the moment she has finally been forced to acknowledge the sad truth: Papakota wasn't the nice guy he had pretended to be for all those years. He had lied to her, had deceived her. It was so plain to see in her eyes how hard it was on her, how much she struggled with the realization that she'd been so wrong in her judgment of his character. She couldn't believe it, didn't want to believe he was a killer.

And in the end she has been right.

Just as she has predicted, Danny and the rest of the team soon after found evidence showing it wasn't the professor that killed Kolovos, but his brother. He just finished talking on the phone to Danny, getting the update on the case. No doubt she would be elevated about this development.

For the first time in days he was actually looking forward to bring her some news about the case. Because this time it would be good news. Although he still wasn't sure what he should think of professor Papakota, he was glad he didn't have to destroy her belief in him any further. This time he could do just the opposite and tell her that she has been right to trust the guy.

Okay, so shifting suspects from Papakota to his brother wasn't really terrific news, but it was good news none the less. Right? She didn't have any emotional ties to this brother, did she? So this could really be considered good news. Right?!

Well he wasn't all that sure anymore when he left his room to bring her the news. Maybe if he gave her the good news first? Or he could let her decide. Like they do in the movies all the time. 'I've got good news and bad news, which one do you want to hear first?'

She'd probably skin him alive if he ever did that.

But instead his instincts suddenly started screaming at him. It took him a second to realize what had ticked them off. Only then the conscious part of his brain started to recognize what something less brain driven inside his head had already picked up: Her door was ajar.

Under normal circumstances this would probably not be any notion of concern to him. This was a small hotel, barely able to hold up to that name – although it was very clean and the rooms were lovely if you're into this… girlish décor. But it only had four rooms in total, one of which was used as a closet and one more inhabited by the landlady's 90 years old grandmother. So with his partner and himself staying in separate rooms the 'hotel' was actually booked out for the night.

Still with all she'd been through during the last days, probably weeks or months, he was quite sure she wouldn't leave her door open like this. That's why his hand went to his holster instantly, opening the safety strap. For a second some part of his brain tried to argue about how he was getting paranoid. But this time he wanted to be rather safe than sorry.

Never sorry, when it's about her!

So he knocked on the door with his left hand, calling her name just to make sure, in case this was all just his imagination. So far he wasn't ready to actually draw the weapon. Although he has to admit, the only reason he didn't was so that he didn't scare his friend. This could still be his paranoid mind playing games with him. She might have been okay.

Only the sight that greeted him when he pushed to door open was everything but 'okay'. She was standing in the middle of the small room, her hands in the air, her whole body tense. It was dark and the little lamps on the wall didn't do much to illuminate the room. No matter how small the place it was still way too dark to get a good look at whoever was pointing a gun at her.

The moment the gun in the guys hand registered in his brain was also the moment he froze. Throughout this whole investigation – well the part he got some more insight on during the last days anyway – there had been the real possibility of her being in danger. But seeing her like this was something totally different. So far he had been mad at her for not taking enough care, for putting herself in danger. But so far she could also have denied it every single time because except for the onetime Diakos attacked her, she had never looked down the barrel of a gun.

At least not because of this case.

So a stranger in his partners hotel room pointing a gun at her pretty face was all it took to let his instincts take over the rest of his body. His right hand grabbed the gun in his holster and he had it drawn before he had taken even one step into the room.

The surprise of him calling her name had obviously been all the distraction his partner needed to push the gun of her attacker out of the way and pound into him instead. Inwardly screaming at her to get the hell out of the way, all he could do was watch how she struggled with her attacker. Both men still had their guns but the stranger also had a firm grip on his victim, so any shooting was out of the question.

He could never put her at risk like that!

So he took some steps forward, trying to get to them and pull her out of harm's way. But before he could get there the attacker pushed her against him and jumped out of the window. Feeling her fall against him overtook his brain for a second, but he shoved it away quickly, instead opting for following her attacker.

But when he went out on the balcony, the guy was already gone. The dark streets didn't give anything away, nothing that could give him a hint as to who the man has been and how he knew where to find his partner. This was not good; not good at all. He took one look at his partner and decided she needed him more. Going out there to try and find the guy would probably do more harm than good.

He put his gun back to the holster and gently turned her around. Her eyes were still wide, the shock all too plain in her face. She was scared. For the first time since Diakos attacked her in the middle of New York and her meeting him again in the embassy she was genuinely scared. He remembers seeing that same look on her during those two nights she had spent with him after the initial attack. It's a look he never wanted to see on her; and those months ago he had sworn to do anything to keep her safe.

But he had failed.

This night in the Thessaloniki hotel was the best proof of that. He had failed her because he couldn't protect her – neither from the emotional pain professor Papakota had put her through, nor from the attack mere seconds ago. No, there was no denying it. He could think about how much he wanted to protect her all the time, but what had he actually done to make good on those words? Had he done anything at all?

"Come on", he told her, his voice kept low as to not scare her any further.

"He… he just… I thought it was you when he knocked."

Damn! Now she was not only in danger because he didn't do his job right, this guy had actually only been able to get to her because she still trusted him enough to open the door without checking it first! Great, just great. How worse could this day get anyway?

"You're sleeping in my room tonight."

The words were out of his mouth before he could even think about them. To be honest, he didn't want to think about them. He had thought so much about her, what this is he's feeling for her, how inappropriate every word he said might be… he's thinking way too much and this night just showed him where too much thinking could get him. Namely, her being attacked.

So he didn't wait for an answer and instead packed the few things of hers he could see in the little travel bag he knows quite well and shoved her out of the room. No way was he letting her stay in here when this guy could come back any minute.

His own room didn't have a balcony, so if they kept the door closed they'd have ample of warning if anybody tried to get into the room. And if somebody came after her again, he wouldn't hesitate to use his gun. To be honest ,he was fed up with how this whole case was developing a life of its own. She's his friend and his partner and he'll keep her safe.

Period.


	12. Foreign Sighs 3

When he pushed her forward through the short hallway she was barely struggling, but he could still feel the tension in her body. Some rational part of his brain was screaming at him that he was only making this more uncomfortable for her. Except his less rational instincts were screaming much louder to bring her into the other room where they had much better chances of hiding when her attacker came back.

"Mac… I…," she started to speak up.

He simply shook his head and urged her forward into the room. Her arms were clinging to her upper body. This self hug was way too familiar. She only did that when she was genuinely upset. Somehow he had to put her mind at ease, make her see that he would keep her safe. Because she just had to be safe.

Then suddenly he saw her eying the bed. Damn, how could he not have thought of that before? Of course he couldn't expect her to be thrilled about spending the night in his bed. How could he be so inconsiderate?! She was scared out of her mind and he just added more pressure by making her think he'll expect her to…geez, he was so stupid that evening.

"Listen, Stell. I can stay in your room instead. I didn't mean… just… just take the bed and get some rest."

Of course he had no intention to actually go to her room. Instead he fully planned on taking up position at the front of the door. Nobody would come near this room tonight to do her any harm. There was no way he was going to sleep tonight anyway. So he might as well keep an eye out for any possible threat.

When she didn't answer him right away, he took it as her consent and turned to put her bag by the bed and leave. But he didn't take two steps, when her arm shot out and her hand grabbed his sweater. She still kept her eyes averted and didn't say a word, so he simply waited. If she wanted him to stay she'd have to say so.

All he had done during the last days, weeks, for a very long time actually… he had done in good faith. He had believed to do the right thing, only to be proven wrong. Because if it had been the right thing why would she have mistrusted him? Why would she have left? Somewhere on the way he had done something wrong to warrant her hesitation to confide in him with her investigation.

Something to give her reason to run away from him.

So while he would always keep trying to protect her, it was her turn now to tell him what she wanted him to do. He would make sure she was alright, no matter what and he was quite sure she knew that by then. She should anyway. And she should also know that he would never expect her to do anything she didn't really wanted to – especially not something like sharing the same bed.

Even after several minutes she was still silent, not saying a word and he was slowly getting worried again. Okay, so this had to be her decision but her not saying a thing was… spooky, in a way. He wanted her to tell him to stay. Everything inside him screamed to make the first move, but something else held him back. While he could feel his heart bleed at seeing her this lost, he simply wasn't sure if he could make this decision for them one more time.

"Stay."

One simple word, but it was all the acknowledgment he needed. While he still wouldn't take it as affirmation to share the bed with her, it was enough to follow her plea. He took a step back at her to guide her over to the bed. She was still shaken from their earlier encounter with whoever had tried to attack her. He could feel the slight tremble vibrate through her grip on his sweater.

Before he had a chance to actually turn her towards the bed her other arm shot out and her grip on him tightened. She buried her head against his neck, her arms around him, holding him tighter than ever before. That way he could feel the trembling running through her body even more. She was still frightened. And while his heart ached to make her feel safe, he knew it was both their punishment for her mistrust in him. A childish little voiced might even have tried to convince him it would teach her a lesson, to confide into him earlier next time.

But the stabbing inside his heart squashed everything else.

With a little thud her travel bag landed on the floor besides his foots and his own arms came up to hug her back to him. But the trembling didn't subside. Instead he felt her shivering even more. Damn, he shouldn't have hesitated.

The first hot tears were already coating his neck, slowly seeping into his shirt. All he had wanted was for her to see the truth but it seemed as if the truth was too painful this time. She didn't make a sound, just silently cried, while her hands still clutched at his sweatshirt. Her arms were so tight around him, he could feel every sobbing breath she took; every sniffle stabbing a bit more at his already wounded heart.

"It's okay. He won't get anywhere near you again," he finally whispered into her ear.

She simply nodded but didn't let go of him. He knew for now she'll need the connection –the same connection they've been sharing for such a long time now. 'Working together for over ten years', that's what he has told Moungri and Temmas. That's not really it, is it? They know each other for nearly fifteen years now, have been friends for most of that time. And the connection they shared for the last seven years can't hold anything against either their partnership at work or their friendship outside of it.

This was too important for both of them.

There's no way he can remember how long they stood there; rooted to the spot. He suspected she needed to hold on to somebody even more than she needed the comfort of knowing he was there to protect her if this attacker came back. He himself was simply glad he could provide whichever of those two she needed more at that moment.

"Come on," he gently nudged her when he could feel her relax in his embrace. "You're tired and it's wearing you out even more. Sleep some hours. There's nothing we can do right now anyway."

She nodded against his neck, but didn't let go of him. Waiting for several more minutes didn't help either. Her grip didn't loosen for just a second. Getting her into bed so that she could wind down wasn't working one bit. He had to think of something else. But his mind was blank. All the thoughts actually forming inside this normally so bright brain of his were spinning around and around the same thing.

The woman in his arms.

"Stell?"

No answer, not even a nod this time; nothing.

"Stella, please."

His voice was breaking now, but if anything her grip got even tighter then. That's when he finally understood. She didn't want to let him go. He had told her he would go to the other room and she probably thought he would still keep to his words and leave her here alone.

Gently he caressed her back, trying to dislodge her from himself all the while. When she still didn't move, he carefully tilted her head until he could see her face again. She kept her eyes away from him though. Slowly his fingers slid over her cheek, feeling her face turning even more into the caress – but still avoiding eye contact.

This felt so achingly familiar.

"You have to rest," he whispered again, still searching for her eyes. "I'll be right here with you."

Finally she made the other kind of contact he's been waiting for when her eyes turned towards him. The relief he could see in there added another stab to the growing pain in his heart. Again she has doubted him and again he wasn't sure how to feel about it. But this wasn't the time to dwell on this kind of thought. All that mattered was for them to get some rest – both of them.

"You'll stay…"

It was a statement rather than a question so he didn't deem it necessary to give her an answer. Instead he guided her over to the double bed. She complied willingly but the way her eyes darted between the door and himself told him enough to not sway away from her side. She took her shoes off and climbed into the bed, but she turned to her right side, keeping an eye on him all the time.

To not elevate her worries any more he sat down on the bed beside her. With his left hand he turned the light off. Only the little bit of moonlight that made it through the closed curtains illuminated her face. He could see her eyes were still open, although she was visibly fighting with sleep.

"Go to sleep. I'll be right here, when you wake up."

She sighed quietly, but finally closed her eyes. For a few more minutes, he could see her eyelids flutter while she still tried to stay awake, pretending to be asleep so he wouldn't tell her to rest anymore. But at some point she finally lost the fight. Her breathing evened out and when the movement below those eyelids stopped he was sure she'd finally get the sleep she needed so much.

For a while he just sat there beside her and watched her sleep. He used to do that with somebody else… and doing it again felt way too familiar. It also gave him time to ponder about how close he had come again to losing her. This time it could have been for good; and this time there would have been no way to get her back.

At some point he got up and looked around. There was only one chair in the room and it didn't look very appealing. If he spent the night in that thing his back would be stiff the following day. Not really something to look forward to, considering he might need all his concentration and strength when they got to Papakota's brother.

To think of it, he hasn't told her about that latest development yet. She might still have some doubts about the professor. He should have told her right away, but when he had seen that stranger pointing a weapon at her all thought of Danny's phone call had vanished. But he would definitely have to tell her first thing in the morning.

And then they would try to find the professors' brother to finally bring him to justice.

He looked at her again; her face relaxed in blissful slumber. Hopefully she was dreaming good dreams now. The last days had enough excitement – no need for any added nightmares. Somehow he didn't want to leave for just a second and the chair in the corner of the room still didn't look very invitingly.

So he sat down on the bed again, moving backwards until his back was resting against the footrest. She was curled up on the heads end of the bed, leaving the other side free for him to pull his legs up and sit somewhat comfortably. That way he didn't have to let her out of his sight.

And he wouldn't break his promise to her either.

The next morning came soon. He knew that she normally woke up quite early – even without an alarm clock. But this day she didn't. While he would have liked for her to get all the rest she needed, he knew they had to get up and out there. He was sure by now the guy from the last night was Papakota's brother. So his first priority now was to find the guy and get him arrested.

But when his eyes fell on her peaceful face, again he couldn't bring himself to wake her up. So he carefully got up and moved to the other end of the small room. For a moment he pondered what to do, and then he came to a decision. While he kept one eye on his sleeping partner he got his cell phone out; only to stop the next second.

His first instinct was to call Flack which was kind of stupid because a New York detective couldn't help him this time. Instead he should call his Greek police contact. Too bad he couldn't remember his name...The only name that popped into his mind was the guy from the Greek Intelligence.

Temmas.

He had to have his card somewhere. He knew the man had given him one when they met. His suite jacket! Right, that was where it had to be. So he got over to it and after some rummaging through the pockets he found the little white card he was looking for.

Chistos Temmas, Ethniki Ypiresia Pliroforion. Beside the name, the only ornamentation on the card was a blue shield with a symbol of the world and a hand holding a flame that looked quite a lot like the one they carry around the world for the Olympics.

He couldn't read the Greek letters, but somebody had thought of putting the transcription on the card. While he still didn't know for sure what was written there, he knew quite well that guy was something akin to CIA. His only job right now was probably to keep an eye on them.

So it should be easy to contact him.

One hour later he sat in a police car beside his by then fully awake partner, driving over to Tasso Papakota's house. He had been quite pissed off to hear his partner had paid the guy a visit the day before – even before she had turned up at the museum. But this time he kept his anger to himself. They didn't have time for accusations.

Also, the day before none of them could have known the guy was a murderer. And now that they did, she was all for arresting him. Okay, so he suspected her relief about learning the professor was innocent in the murder played a large role in that. But in the end, the only thing that counted was for them to get this case to an end. Because he knew quite well she wouldn't leave this country otherwise.

By the time they arrived Tasso was already gone. Not for the first time that day, he felt guilty because he hadn't called Temmas the night before, when he got the information from Danny. But he had been way too occupied then. And in his mind the welfare of his partner and friend came first; including her emotional welfare.

When they found a clue as to where their killer might be, he didn't feel quite good about keeping it to themselves. But just like the evening before, he gave in to her wish. He knew it was a mistake, but the way she looked at him… well he could rarely resist her pleading eyes on a good day. This time they had both had a rather bad day. So he caved and together, they left Temmas to secure the house.

Instead they went hunting; on their own.

He's still not sure how they managed to survive this one. The first shot Tasso took at them at the plantation nearly made his heart stop. While he had his weapon on him he knew his partner was unarmed. Not to mention that this place was providing plenty of hiding places for their perp.

The only thing he knew at the time was that he had to make sure he could protect his friend. So he went after Tasso himself, leaving her behind where he thought her safe. The guy was fast, turning around the trees with ease. Of course Tasso knew this place much better than he did. That man was on his home turf, while he had to try and take cover fast enough to not get hit by a bullet; all the while not knowing where his partner might be because he had long lost his orientation.

Then suddenly he saw Tasso standing up tall, his weapon drawn and pointing it at… somebody. He couldn't see the target but he was quite sure it could only be one person. The one person he tried to keep safe.

He tried to warn her, tried to get to Tasso before he could harm her. But the shot echoed through the trees before he had a chance to get there. Without thinking he raised his weapon and took aim. The next second Tasso was lying on the ground, bleeding out. At that moment he didn't think about how he would explain this to Temmas or if there would be an IAB agent waiting for him at the airport as he got back to the States.

The only thing he could think of was the woman Tasso had shot at – his partner, his friend.

And now everything is over. She wasn't shot; the man she had put her faith in had protected her one last time. So actually it was professor Papakota who had been her guarding angel that day; the one who had made sure they were here, on their way back to New York.

The only thing left for them now is… to get back what they had lost somewhere on the way and made her run away from him rather than towards him. There used to be no space for this kind of mistrust between them. He can only hope that it will be like this again when they got back. Because he wants it to. He needs it to. And now he has hope they'll make it; they will go back to where they used to be and leave all this behind.

"What'd you do with the artifacts?" he suddenly asks; if only so that they don't keep this silence up any longer.

"Just a… a hole in the ground, with some dirt, a few stones." She sighs before she continues in the same monotonous voice: "I tossed the artifacts and the dagger inside. I… I.. I don't think I even heard them land."

He knows it's hard on her to talk about it. It's bringing up all the memories from the last days. But she has to talk about it – they have to talk about it. This is the only way they'll pull through this. Not talking… it had worked for many years. But now they actually need to change that.

They just need to.

"What happens when someone else digs up those treasures?"

To be honest he doesn't really care what happens. Not unless this will involve her again. Right now he's quite sure it won't. If somebody ever digs them up, they won't look for fingerprints on them. And even if they did, they won't bother to check any US-databases. So it's quite safe to assume, this won't come and bite them in the ass in the years to come.

"That's up to the Greek government, not me."

Well, seems they can agree on that one. He smiles and closes his eyes, reveling in the familiar feeling of her beside him. She hasn't let go of him since they changed planes in Rome for their final flight to New York. Normally he would be worried because it's not like her to be this clingy. But right now he's content with where he is – and where she is for that matter.

So he'll deal with that later; they will deal with it later.

This time he doesn't know what to say anymore. There are still tons of questions he wants to ask and he's sure there are just as many questions that she has for him. First of all, probably how he managed to get to Greece that fast. It's the one question he's been expecting since they met in front of the museum.

But it seems as if she's just as content with the silence as he is, because he feels her relax again. And when he takes a look at her face, he can see her eyes are closed. Actually sleep looks like a very good idea right now. Rome had been their only stop since they couldn't get a direct flight from Thessaloniki back to New York. They had left less than an hour ago. This meant, they would still have more than eight, nearly nine hours till their arrival.

He leans his head over again until it's resting on her full locks. They feel soft against the raw stubble on his chin. During the last years he had always slept peacefully when she had been with him. Maybe this will be just like all those other times. It would be too good to be true if they could fall asleep now and when they wake up eight hours later they're not only home but everything is back to normal.

Too good to be true…

Suddenly she whispers something that sounds like: " Sagappoh."

Actually it sounds more like a sigh and he's not sure if she really said something or if it really was only his imagination playing with him.

His brain is fuzzy from the sleep that's slowly overtaking his body, but he still manages somehow to quietly ask back: "What did you say?"

She's not answering right away and he already put it down to him imagining it, when her grip suddenly tightens again on his arm and bring him back from sleep for just long enough to hear her say again:

"Thank you, Mac."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still episode 5.24 Grounds for Deception. The dialogue about what she did with the dagger is from the episode, the rest is my take on what took place in the hotel after Stella was attacked and during their flight back.


	13. Unheard Scream 1

He had been late. In fact, they had nearly started without him. Glasses had been held high when she had started to speak. But he had chosen that moment to turn up at the bar. His mouth had formed a little smile which never met his eyes. And she had smiled back at him, although she hadn't felt like smiling at all. Those last days had been terrible on all of them – on some more than others. So in a way his little smile had given her hope; hope that everything would be alright somehow. Not like it had been before, but alright in its own way none-the-less.

She wished it could be that easy.

To lose someone you know is one thing, but to watch a friend crumble at this loss was another one. It was the second time she had seen this kind of emptiness in a man's eyes and it's the second time she had cringed at the thought of what this man had been thinking, where this emptiness would lead him in the days, months, years to follow.

The first time had been so long ago, sometimes she can actually forget what he had looked like then. Maybe it's not really forgetting as much as… not remembering at that time. There's a difference because not remembering at the time meant that image was still burned to her memory; somewhere buried alongside all those other memories she'd rather never see again. Although she knows she will, one day; the day she most definitely doesn't want them to come back, they'll return.

Like a curse.

Seeing that same look in Don's eyes was a revelation of some kind. For she hadn't expected to see that look on anybody ever again. In her line of work she probably should have. But none of them think about this when they get up in the morning. You never think it will hit somebody close to you. Maybe somebody you know – if you're unlucky. Just not somebody you care about. Never somebody you care about.

That's what she had thought when they had processed the scene. And it's also what she told her partner right then. Angell would pull through it. She just had to. People you work closest with don't die on the job, they grow old, retire and you'll tell each other stories of your grandchildren one day. She wasn't supposed to die that day.

Only, she did die.

And she took part of them with her. She definitely took Don. It had been so easy to read in his eyes. Devastation, disbelief, sadness and the same kind of guilt she had seen in somebody else's eyes so many years ago. Whenever she looked at Don she saw him; a memory from eight years ago. Eyes asking for a reason; asking for forgiveness that would never be given, not by the one who was supposed to answer anyway.

She hadn't been there at the hospital, when Don got the news; hadn't even been there when he told Danny. But she can see the scene playing out in front of her eyes as if she had been. She knows this act of the play by heart, she has seen it before. At first he will try to stay calm, not to break on it while inside he's already shattered. Only when the outside shell can't hold it anymore he will crumble, unable to fight the tears. And after the tears are gone, the rage will start, the anger, the fire that will not burn down – not for a very, very long time. At least not until they had found some answers and whoever did this.

All she had been able to do then, was try to follow the one path that wouldn't lead to Don's destruction and find whomever shot Jessica. They all had been working that case. Heck, the whole city had worked on it. There hadn't been a cop anywhere in New York City that hadn't heard the word and started hunting an anonymous shooter.

But by the time they had gathered together in that bar to give Angell her last goodbye as it was the sad tradition, this case had been all wrapped up. They had found their men. Justice had been served and she hadn't been willing to ask any more questions about it. Because when she had watched Don and his eyes had met hers, something had been missing. There had still been sadness and despair as well as the anger. But the fire had run cold.

The desire for revenge was gone; fulfilled already.

She hadn't wanted to ask him about it and when her best friend turned up – late but there none-the-less – in a way she had been glad for the distraction. That way she hadn't had to deal with whatever Don might or might not have done. Nobody would ever ask him about him, although she had suspected at least one person would read the young man as well as she had; the one person who had been in that place before.

Instead she had smiled at them all and motioned for them to lift their glasses again to give their dead friend the last honors. Her words had sounded shallow to her own ears and since that night she had never been sure how the others had felt about it. She knows she meant them just the way she said it, but… it hadn't seemed to be enough.

"…one of those rare people, who touched each of our lives…"

Of course she had. They had worked together for years and it was really hard not to get drawn into Angell's little antics, not to laugh when she started snickering, not to smile at Dons sometimes quite lousy attempts to impress her. Had been… it had been hard.

Because it never would be again.

"… reaffirm your faith in humanity…"

Shallow, stereotypical. As if she had read the script from some cop show on TV. It said so little about the woman Jessica Angell had been. And yet it had been all she could think of. Because if she had tried to voice anything about the friendship they had started to share, the little jokes about their male colleagues, the little secrets they had told each other over a drink from time to time, her voice would have broken. Losing another friend was hard enough already.

First Claire and now Angell…

She had looked at the one man who had lived through what Don would have to face soon and tried to smile; tried to see in this one's eyes if that episode would make him fall again. Because although Don is a good friend and she'll try to help him along the way, this other man is her best friend and she had vowed to keep him on his path a very long time ago. But for some reason she hadn't been able to read him at that evening. While she could usually read him like a book, this time the book at been in Russian or Mandarin or any other language she couldn't decipher, even less understand.

She can remember the blank look at his face; his eyes which for once didn't speak about whatever was going on in that seemingly all-knowing head of his. But by all means, she couldn't remember the look in his eyes. During this last month there hasn't a day gone by when she didn't try to remember it, but all she comes up with is a blank. Something between them got lost on the way and she hasn't been able to find it again.

All she can remember further on from that night is that suddenly all hell had broken loose.

Thinking back makes her gut churn. If she's honest with herself, she doesn't want to remember. Ever! She doesn't want to remember the sound of people crying, the acid taste in her mouth, the feel of the adrenalin pumping through her body, the smell of blood clinging to everything as if trying to ingrain itself in her very being. She had thrown out the clothes from that evening because even after washing them five times she felt as if they were still stained in blood; still reeked of fear. If she could forget that memory right on the spot it wouldn't be soon enough.

This she remembers, but she can't remember the look in her best friends eyes.

What does that say about her? What does it make out of her? Does it make her selfish? Of course she doesn't want to feel that way, but she knows there has been several moments during that last month she could have… handled things differently. And now that she's sitting here in her office, she can see every single one of these moments pass by her, reminding her of her own weakness.

So many things, so many decisions where she took the wrong turn. But she can't change that and in a way she doesn't want to because not all of it has been her fault. He is at fault, too. Because he took just as many wrong turns as she did. Not with the investigation of course. If anything, he hit one one-way road after the other but that didn't stop him from trying.

It didn't stop him from looking the other way either.

And look the other way he had a freaking million times. Actually every time she has looked at him he has looked the other way, avoiding her gaze as if it would burn him alive. Maybe that's what he had felt like, but this doesn't make it easier on her, doesn't make her feel less guilty. Whenever she's thinking about it, something inside her screams it's not her fault and she shouldn't feel guilty but she can't stop herself.

It seems as if starting the second Jessica Angell died something in their team slowly withered away. It's not only Don, who is still so far from the man he used to be, it's amazing he's even functioning on that basic level. The whole team was shaken by not only Jess' death but also by the shooting afterwards. Everybody can see that Danny's not really coping well with sitting in that wheelchair. And really, who could blame him for that?!

Lindsay's trying to hold herself and her family together but it's all too visible how close she is to failing. She's not only the mother to a toddler, she has to deal with her own demons from that night – and Danny's on top. Sheldon's following in his role model's wake, trying to cope with his near death experience by volunteering with the Manhattan Parks Medical Unit to overcome his developing insomnia.

And then there's their boss. Her partner, her friend, the one man who was supposed to keep them all together and remind them that while this had been a terrible month, they would come out of it. He was supposed to tell them they had to keep on working, doing what was right; fulfilling their duty. That's who he is. He's the guy who reminds you of your duties and gives you a look that will make you squirm and never question those duties again.

But this man was missing; that Mac Taylor hasn't been in this lab for weeks.

Because the man impersonating him wasn't doing any of the things, he was supposed to. He was working their case with a vengeance. She knows this determination, has seen it in his eyes during many of their cases. But this one was personal. Not because somebody took a shot at him, mind you. He can cope with that quite well by now and she doubts he would retreat to his shell about it. No, this was about somebody shooting at his team. He took that very personally, too personally.

She can remember one night; probably one of the first after that bar had been turned into a crime-scene. They've been standing in one of the layout rooms, looking at a table full of evidence that told them squat. Lots of broken glass, lots of bloody splinters, clothing collected from the victims. For a second she has looked at him and wondered what he expected to find in there. He hasn't looked back at her. Instead he simply stared at their 'evidence' and tried so hard to find something in there, she could nearly see his brain overloading from all of it.

"Did you sleep at all last night?"

The question has been out of her mouth before she thought about it. But it has been the first sentence she had uttered since the shooting that has voiced what she was really concerned about. She could see he wasn't crumbling on this; that he wasn't afraid for himself. There has been only one person he has been afraid for and this person was Danny.

He had avoided her eyes, as he would so often in the weeks to follow from that moment on. And for several moments he didn't answer. Only when she hasn't moved and hasn't dismissed it, he finally did.

"I had some rest."

She hadn't believed him, not really. Of course she had wanted to, but she couldn't. He had looked tired even then. All she had wanted at that moment was to take him out of the lab, home; either his or hers, it hasn't really mattered which. She could see he needed more than rest, definitely more rest than he would allow himself.

Carefully she has walked the three steps over to him and touched his arm. She could feel him tense under his touch, but he didn't look up. Instead he continued to stare at the items on the table as if they would give him an answer any second now. Only they didn't. There was no answer to get from them, there never had been and there never would be. They were stuck and no amount of refusal on his account to accept that would change this fact.

He has looked so lost. Her inside has churned at the thought of where this would lead him, where he was spiraling downwards to faster and faster. This couldn't happened, wasn't allowed to happen; not again. She had vowed so long ago that she would keep him away from that place; she couldn't give up on him now. He has to be okay because she needs him to be whole. If he's not whole, she feels as if a part of her is missing too. And she doesn't want this part to be missing, she needs it.

"You can't go on like this," she had whispered to him then; her voice colored with desperation. Because he hasn't been the only one who couldn't go on like this.

"I can try."

With that, this conversation had been over, at least on his account. He had stepped away from her and started to process whatever they had found and deemed worthy of further investigation. She could only stare at him, hoping against all hope that she was wrong about this. But she has known how futile this hope has been. He wasn't going to rest, not for real, not for long; not nearly long enough.

She had felt her stomach turn around and around while she watched him carefully picking up pieces of the glass. For a second another memory had come up, a memory of herself handling glass and weeks of tormented fear afterwards. The feeling she has had while watching him processing hasn't been that different. She has still felt the fear from that night in the bar echoing inside her body. Like a never ending sound, tormenting her, reminding her of how close they came to lose another friend – or die themselves.

But watching him trying to find any evidence of who did this has also reminded her of why they were here. So even when she has had a hard time suppressing her trembling she reached for a pair of gloves and started working. The sooner they found out what had happened that night in the bar, the sooner they could try to find their way back to normalcy.

Only they didn't.

They couldn't find anything in these items and the longer they tried the more obvious it got. This was going to be one of those cases they might never solve. One person dead, three seriously injured and at least a dozen lightly wounded. While Danny was trying to cope with the prospect of having to use a wheelchair, she could see her partner spiraling downwards even further.

One day, probably a week after the shooting she arrived at the lab early for her shift. Originally she went straight for her own office but that path led her to his first. She could see him through the glass walls. Not even all the photographs and the shaky writing on the walls could hide him in there. She stopped in her tracks and watched him for a moment. He was looking at something on his desk, his back hunched over.

Quietly she went over and opened the door. He didn't move nor showed any indication he had heard her at all. Another sign of how tired he really was; one of many. He must have sensed her by then because his head moved a bit to the side as if he was listening to whoever had entered his sanctuary. But he didn't turn around, still avoiding her gaze.

"Mac?" she asked carefully.

"He's gone." For a second her heart stopped at his words. She had spoken to Lindsay just the evening before. It couldn't be… it couldn't be Danny. But before she could ask what he was talking about the hoarse voice continued: "He's on medical leave. Indefinitely."

The shoulders in front of her quivered for a moment but it was gone just as fast. He lifted an item from his desk and showed it to her over his shoulder. Danny's identity card. When she went over to him, she could see a badge on the desk, too. Her hand came up to caress his back, but she stopped short of actually touching him. She could see the tension in his body, could see how hard he was trying to hold himself together.

"He might never come back…"

And really maybe this had been their biggest fear. They had just lost a friend and now the life of another one was in the balance. While Danny was more or less out of the woods concerning his survival… well survival wasn't everything in this case. She knew they were lucky he wasn't killed on the spot but for a guy like Danny, paralysis probably seemed just as bad.

"Mac… Danny's strong. He'll pull through this."

She wanted to believe in her own words, but she could see in the way his jaw tensed that he couldn't. There was this little nagging doubt. Maybe things wouldn't be okay, maybe Danny wouldn't be okay. Their team was falling apart and there was nothing either of them could do.

Except to keep on working.

Because if they kept on working they would sooner or later solve this case and bring it to an end. This wouldn't help Danny, but hopefully it would help them to cope with what had happened. They needed to heal. All of them.

"You can't keep on going like this," she tried to reason with him.

Right then, she wanted nothing more than to take him out of here and get their minds off what had happened. Something inside her was breaking and she didn't know how to keep it together anymore. She needed… something, somebody. No, that's not true, she knows that now as much as she it knew then. She needed him, to feel him, to feel his arms around her.

Because during the last years, every time something terrible had happened, he had been there to hold her; to scare the demons away and to make her feel safe. The emptiness inside her had spread during the last week and it was still growing; bringing this fear with it. It seemed as if nothing she did could fill this void.

Again her hand had moved to touch him. If only to feel he was still there; if only to reassure herself she wasn't dreaming him standing there. She knew they had survived but sometimes, when she was lying alone in her bed at night… sometimes she wasn't sure anymore. Maybe she was dreaming and in reality the blood that hadn't let go of her clothing had been his.

The thought was more than frightening.

All the while the need to feel him closer was growing by the day – if not by the minute. Still her hand just kept hovering over his back without touching. If she touched him he might vanish in thin air. This whole dream bubble might burst and she was back to reality; back to the bar. If this was a dream, wasn't it better to keep dreaming than to wake up to an even more cruel reality? In a dream she could stay at his side forever, without ever facing the possibility of him leaving.

"Stella?"

Another voice suddenly interrupted her thoughts. Quickly she drew her hand back and turned around to the door. Adam looked at them, fidgeting with the folder in his hands. His hair was disheveled and the stubble had started to grow into something more beard-like than normal. Another life that had been interrupted by that night in the bar, another one trying to cope with the not so subtle reminder of his own mortality.

"I… I've finished the DNA analysis for the Deakins case. You… you wanted to see it as soon… as soon as it was finished."

She could see how uncomfortable the young man was, but she didn't have the nerve to deal with this right now. At some point they would all have to deal with it. But there's simply no way she could help somebody else through this, when she could barely hold herself together. She needed help herself, but the one man she knew could provide it, wasn't moving or even acknowledging her – or her needs.

"Let's move this to my office, Adam…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of episode 5.25 Pay Up leading up to the beginning of 6.1 Epilogue. Stella's words from the bar about Angell are from those episodes, the rest is as always my take on what happened in-between them. There's nothing big out of episode 6.01 yet.


	14. Unheard Scream 2

"Is… everything alright with the boss?"

Surprised she looked up at the young man standing in her office. He was still fidgeting, this time with the hem of his shirt. He looked nervous, actually avoiding her gaze. What was it with guys not looking her in the eyes anymore?! It's not as if she was sporting some kind of bruise. Been there, got the t-shirt, doesn't need another one. But even then they had looked at her, had showed some compassion, some… something that made her feel whole again.

"I don't know." And that was the problem. She didn't know if he was okay. Just like she didn't know what he was thinking. Maybe she didn't really know anything anymore.

"I… I wanted to talk to him before about this other case and… well…"

"What is it, Adam?!" She was losing patience fast and his stuttering wasn't helping. But one look at him made her regret her last sentence. He simply nodded and turned to walk out again. Thinking back to that moment she feels horrible about lashing out on him like that. He had looked like a little lost puppy and she had just kicked him where it hurt most.

"Wait!" she called out to him. "I'm sorry, Adam. I didn't… This whole thing is really getting to all of us."

This time he actually looked at her. The little spark that had always been in his eyes was missing. He looked just as lost as she felt and something inside her wanted to reach out to him. Because it seemed as if he needed comfort just as much as she did.

"I know… I… visited Danny at the hospital yesterday."

He had? With a pang of guilt she realized she hadn't seen her wounded friend since the day after the shooting.

"He's not coming back to work fast. I… I saw Lindsay tell the boss before. I was just wondering… Well, you know. I was wondering if… if he's alright, you know."

"I don't think he is, Adam." It was the first time she actually voiced that worry, least of all to their youngest team member. But looking at the way their team was handling themselves right now…well, at least he was still talking to her, could actually look her in the eyes. So maybe that's why it was easy to tell him this.

"But he will be."

She still can't believe those weren't her words but his.

Another three weeks had passed since then without them getting anywhere. She worked as much as she could. Not only because work helped her to forget what had happened; at least for a while. But also because working meant she wasn't at home. And at the moment being at home only reminded her of how alone she was there. How empty her bed felt, how cold and lonely.

The need for someone close was getting stronger every day. But the only man she wanted to fill this void was still keeping away from her; avoiding her however he could. He had buried himself in work even more than she did. At some point he had run out of clean shirts and suites. Instead he had started to wear casual clothes. If it hadn't been for such a dire reason she would have mused how good he looked in those close fitting sweaters.

Unfortunately, most of the time it only reminded her of the fact that he was bunking at the lab for nearly a month now.

At first they had devoted all their power to this case, but when they hadn't found anything within that first week, time caught up with them. Their normal caseload wasn't going to stop because of this and their team was down two men. Well actually down one man and one mother to a little girl who was supposed to work only part-time. With Danny fresh out of the hospital but still in that damned chair nobody expected her to be back at work anytime soon.

To think about it, they were actually three men down. Because their boss was somehow missing from their usual work, too. While he was at work all the time, he had buried himself in this case, unwilling to get out of his office if it wasn't to follow another trail; just to see it run cold again. They were at a standstill with their case, but he was unwilling to accept that.

Time and again she saw him through the glass wall, her heart aching to walk in there and grab him.

She didn't know what she would do then. Grab him, shake him, hug him, burrow herself against him. Because that's what she really wanted, what she needed deep down inside. To feel his arms around her, his skin under her searching hands. She wanted to feel him, really feel him, to know he was still there, he was still alive and not some kind of illusion she was dreaming up every day because she couldn't cope with reality. A reality she feared as much as she was unable to accept it.

Maybe that was the reason she never saw him leave.

Like in some cheesy Hollywood movie, where you see the one person you can't cope with losing. You see him all the time, but he's always out of reach, always avoiding you; as if he tried to give you the clue about him not really being there. But there was no way she would let him go. He was way too important to her. He couldn't leave her. No, he was still there.

He just had to be.

So every time she took a look into his office, she stopped short of the door before entering. Going in there, touching him… it would make it real, could burst the bubble and she might wake up. She'd rather live the rest of her life in this illusion than wake up and realize he's really gone.

"Stella!" A voice interrupted her musings. "Sid is waiting in the morgue for us." She took one more look at her best friend in his office, then turned to Sheldon and nodded. Another distraction might be just what she needed to take her mind off to another place.

But the case turned out to be anything but distracting. It only made her feel even worse. A little girl brutally murdered and dumped in the garbage. She had trouble coping with this kind of case on most good days. Lately she was having only bad days. So the second they got their perp and send him to booking couldn't come soon enough.

Another case solved, another one finished; and still not the one they needed to solve to get their life back on track.

Sheldon went out as soon as their shift ended. She had heard he was volunteering with the Manhattan Parks Medical Unit, but she hadn't asked him so far. It wasn't hard to see how guilty he felt about what had happened after the shooting – although there was no reason for him to feel guilty. But it seemed as if none of them could do anything but feel this way. Everyone carried their own guilt and none of them seemed able to let go of it.

She was walking back into the office when she saw her partner rifling through yet another pile of witness accounts. The pile seemed to be endless, never getting smaller because he couldn't dismiss any one of them as insignificant. There might be something in there he hadn't seen the first time. Or the second one. Or any other time. He must have read those over and over again. There was no telling what he still wanted to find in there, but she could understand why he kept trying. Solving this case had turned into his only reason to stay awake.

Although she's sure it would be much healthier if he got some rest for a change.

This time she didn't walk by, she couldn't. She was drawn to him all the time, but this evening she was tired of resisting, tired of keeping her own distance. So she went inside and stared at him. At first he didn't acknowledge her; just like he had done so many times during the last weeks. But she didn't sway, didn't turn around and most of all she didn't give up.

She was tired of pretending everything was alright and she was more than tired of feeling like this. This last case had been another hell hole and he hasn't been there to help her through it. They couldn't go on like this; she couldn't go on like this. Maybe he could, maybe he was well aware of what he was doing to her. If so it was all the more reason to kick his ass and get him to stop it.

Because she needed him. The part inside her that was missing got bigger and bigger every day, like a black hole sucking in every molecule, every ray of light, everything she held dear. This had to stop. She needed it to stop and more than anything she needed him to help her through this. Because she couldn't do this anymore and she couldn't stop feeling this way. The loneliness was suffocating her and he was the only one she trusted enough to stop this.

"Mac…"

Unbelievable how hoarse her voice sounded. In a way it sounded like somebody else was talking. But they were the only people in the room and since their shift was long over, their team was long gone home by now. The floor was nearly empty, everyone on their way home. Just like they should be.

"Please."

She was really growing desperate by then. He stopped moving the papers in front of him, but he didn't look up, still avoided her gaze. How long has it been since she saw his eyes? She missed them, she missed him, missed everything they used to have. The little looks, the little touches, the silent communication between them. She missed it all. But most of all she missed him and she wanted nothing more than to have him back.

To feel his arms around her.

She wanted to know that he will be there when she closes her eyes, wanted to feel the warmth of his skin, hear his breathing evening out when he falls asleep. Memory is a bitch because she could remember every second that she has ever spent so close to him. Every fiber of her body knows what it feels like to have his strong arms round her, crushing him to her, feeling the heaving of his chest and the texture of his skin when her hands carefully glide over it. Careful because she stole most of these moments when he was asleep. But most of all she wants to feel her own heartbeat synchronizing with his' again.

This emptiness inside was killing her, she needed him to fill it up again, like he did so many times before.

"I can't…," he suddenly whispered back, his voice equally as hoarse as hers.

Suddenly the air in his office was getting too thin. She needed to breathe, needed somebody to bring her back down to earth. Only she couldn't find this somebody in here anymore. So she did the only she could and turned around before she said something she would regret later.

But the need to feel his arms around her didn't go with it. If possible it grew even more. She had felt this alone for nearly four weeks by then and she didn't know how long she could go on. Company… all the wanted was company. Wasn't it? Maybe not. It was so basic, so simple, so… desperate. She simply wanted to be rooted back to this world and she was growing more frantic by the minute.

Why wouldn't he help her?!

Defeated she turned back to the elevator. No use in staying here any longer. These halls couldn't give her any relief from the emptiness inside. She shuddered to think about how long it might take until it was finally over. There was no way she could go on like this. The need was growing every day. How long until it was too big to ignore anymore? How long until she snapped? Something had to fill this void, just a bit, to make it more bearable again. She knew there was only one thing that would fill it up to the top but if she could find something to fill it just a bit…

"You're here late, Stella."

Surprised she looked up and right into the ice blue eyes of her colleague. Another set of blue than the one she was longing for, but equally deep and equally compassionate. They lacked the self confidence this other set held most of the time, but they were sporting the same worry; worry about her.

"I could do with a drink. What about you, kiddo?"

The endearment came over her lips before she could stop herself. For a second she saw him flinch, but it was gone quite fast. Instead, he nodded and stepped inside the elevator alongside her. She could feel nervousness and insecurity oozing off him and on any other day, she would have teased him about it. But not that day because at this point she was glad to have some of the company she has been seeking for those last weeks.

He was her friend, too. Without thinking her hand went out to his arm and sneaked around it. She didn't dare to look at him though. It was easier that way, easier to just concentrate on what she needed and not what she should do. He didn't step away, didn't say anything and most of all he didn't reject her.

Maybe that was all she needed.

Looking back at that night she wished she could say that she got drunk stupid and doesn't remember a thing about it. But she didn't and she does remember. They actually went to a bar and at that time she was still contemplating to do nothing else but… have a few beer; maybe she had planned to get totally drunk to forget how much of a failure her life seemed to be lately.

But she knew it wouldn't work.

Alcohol might work for other people, it just never had for her. No, she had another kind of addiction, something else she needed in times like these; someone else. The same someone who was probably still at the lab, working a case that simply refused to get solved. Again the need to feel close to him surged up, almost consuming her whole. No, she couldn't go on like this. Something had to give, right then and there.

She looked at the young man next to her. He was obviously trying not to look spooked by her probably quite unusual behavior. Looking so young and innocent, as if he was fresh out of college, when he was a dedicated member of their lab for nearly five years now – far away from being a freshman any longer. And looking closer at his face he didn't look all that young either.

What are eight years of age difference in either direction?

He was there and she was quite sure he wouldn't turn her down if she asked him to stay with her, to keep her company. And the way his hand was shaking when he lifted his beer told her that he could do with some company, too. They were all shaken by this but here they were at another bar… two of them who actually craved for somebody to ground them back to earth.

She can't blame it on the alcohol and she can't really blame what happened next on anything but her need to feel somebody close to her. He could provide this. More than that, he was willing to provide it. They didn't feel comfortable to drive to either of their apartments. Well at least she didn't, she's not sure about him. And really, what does that say about her?

Did she care at all what he thought about all this then?

To be honest she's not sure anymore what she really thought during this night. All she knows is that they somehow ended up at a cheesy motel. It started out totally innocent. She was tired from pulling one double shift after another and he was too sweet to do anything she wasn't ready for. So they simply lay down and she clutched at him. It felt so good to feel somebody's chest vibrating with breath below her head. She could have fallen asleep like this any other time.

In fact she had, in another life; with another guy.

But this time she needed more. And without her fully registering what she was starting, her hand roamed over his stomach. She could hear his breath hitch when her hand went south, stopping short of the waistband of his shorts. He wanted to say something, but she put a finger on his lips and he obeyed; kept silent for the rest of the night to follow. But even then he was still hesitant to do anything else. Only when she slid her hand under his shirt he finally got the message.

And after a month of spiraling downwards into the abyss, she was finally able to feel something again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one takes off in-between episodes 5.25 and 6.1 Epilogue and goes up through the beginning of the later one. Most of it is my take on what happened, but of course some basic story parts are from either episodes.
> 
> I usually try to stay as cannon as possible, but I had one little slip in this one I would like to explain. I simply can't accept the timeline that puts Stella's birthday in 1975 – making her 34 by now. It's too young for what she accomplished so far. That's why I put her year of birth back 4 years, making her 38 and in my eyes that's far more believable. Mac's about 46 by now according to "The Thing about heroes". There's never been an age given for Adam but he's in the team for at least four years now and he does have to have a masters degree for the type of work he's doing at the lab. So In my opinion it's unlikely for him to be in his early or mid 20s. That's why I put his age at around 30, which works good in my books.


	15. Unheard Scream 3

The second her phone started ringing was the second reality came rushing back to her. She had just done the one thing she had sworn to never do; she got involved with a co-worker. In a way she knew the act itself was the only way to start living again, but she also knew there would be fallout from it. Only right then and there she wasn't ready to think about what this fallout could be. It would have been so easy to go to a bar and get involved with the first guy who looked her way. But instead she had chosen Adam. Sooner or later she would have to tell him this was a mistake that could never happen again. Only she wasn't ready for this kind of talk by then.

The situation was awkward enough already.

So in a way she was glad for the interruption. Of course they would have to talk about this – mostly because talking has been the one thing they've avoided this night so far. But not at that moment. At that moment, she was glad for the simple text message on her phone, stating she had gotten another scene to process. A welcome distraction and an equally welcome excuse to get out of that motel room.

She forced herself to smile at Adam and finished getting dressed. Not the time to talk, definitely not the time to talk… Two minutes later she was out of the room, leaving the young man behind. This time it was her avoiding eye contact. Mostly because she was quite sure what she would see in his eyes. There was a reason she hadn't wanted him to say anything during this night; a reason she wasn't looking at him now.

Guilt can be a real bitch.

So instead of clearing the air right then and there, as she should have, she left him and went back to her car. Well, while the lack of alcohol in her system made explaining the last night a lot more uncomfortable, it made getting to her scene a lot easier. So she shoved away any image of a young man sitting on a hotel bed away and tried to concentrate not only on her driving but also on getting her head back where it belonged.

She would have to make a detour to the lab so she could get some spare clothing from her locker…

When she turned up at the scene she knew something big had happened here. While the message she'd gotten only stated so much as a dead body on the top floor and somebody from her CSI team being first at the scene, all the police cars spoke of another story. Something had gone down here. Her first thought was of another cop getting shot and fear grabbed her heart because she wasn't sure she could deal with loosing anyone else of her team so soon. But she could see some of the uniformed officers smiling. None of them would be smiling if one of theirs had been shot. So it had to be something else.

Slowly she made her way over to the elevator. An officer kept the door open for her and she nodded a thank-you to him with a little smile. There were three other people in the cabin she recognized from another crime scene. But for the life of her, she couldn't remember one single name.

"You heard already?" One of the two other women in the cabin whispered to her colleague. "Word is this is about that shooting at the CSU guys."

"I don't think so. Why should they send us here then? They'd be all over the scene already," the other woman murmured back.

"Even more so! Think about it… They can hardly process a scene connected to their own case!"

Thankfully, the elevator stopped at their floor right then. She wasn't sure what she might have said or done otherwise. Some of her colleagues had been on the scene and this was connected to the bar shooting? There was only one of them stupid enough to place himself in those kinds of situations time and again. But he was busy building up a bunker wall around his office. So this couldn't be him. Someone from another shift? Hard to imagine somebody else ignoring danger like this…

Slowly she walked out of the cabin. She could see a dead woman lying on the floor not far away from her. Sheldon was already there, taking photographs of her. Her white sweater was smeared with blood; her blood obviously. Another woman whose life had been cut short by a bullet. Poor girl. She seemed no older than 20, maybe 21. Way too young to be lying there lifeless, when she should be out partying and enjoying her life, living it to the fullest.

While not having sex with co-workers…

"Are you smiling?"

A warm voice interrupted her thoughts and brought her back to the task at hand. She looked up and right into Sheldon's tired face. Clearly another friend who had trouble sleeping. At some point they had to put this all behind themselves. She remembers how much pride her partner had always taken into putting a team together that was bound by more than simple work ethics. Now he was the one to leave them alone…

"She reminds me of Angell," she finally answered Sheldon's question; if only to pull herself from those thoughts. "We know who she is?"

"No. Mac and Danny didn't get a name."

Great, so it was her partner who got himself involved into yet another shooting. And he even took Danny with him this time. Danny, who could barely move around in his chair yet! It was reckless and irresponsible. Something he would never have done a year ago; or even two months ago.

This wouldn't have happened if she had taken him home that night instead of…

"No ID on the body. COD is exsanguinations," Sheldon continued without pause. "Fatal gunshot was here to the carotid artery. Second shot pierced her deltoid here." That's when he noticed her probably quite unbelieving looks. "What?"

"It just amazes me how just on instinct you know which shot was first."

He smiled again and soon after she got a subtle and unintended but none-the-less firm reminder to get her brain into gear, when he explained her his simple observations of the blood transfer to her shoulder. Thankfully Sheldon couldn't see how far away from this scene her thoughts still were. It was time for her to get her head back on the case. She would have more than enough time to worry about the last night later on. This was not the right time. For now this case was more important; this woman here was more important.

She might be the key…

If this woman was connected to their shooting it was clear why their boss had found it necessary to put his life on the line – again. And she could even understand why Danny had been here, too. Those two were equally determined to solve this case. Hopefully they had gotten any information out of the woman before she hit the ground. If not…

"If the bullets we extract from these wounds are a match to the ones we recovered from the bar, it'll be our first lead in a month that can point us to our shooter." It was a small hope, but hope none-the-less. She couldn't allow herself to think otherwise.

Her eyes roamed around the room for a second and she saw Danny sitting in his chair not too far away. He looked awful; tired and the right side of his grey t-shirt covered in their victims blood. It wasn't hard to imagine what had happened here. Danny could never have gotten here on his own and she couldn't imagine Lindsay having any part in this. So this left only one more suspect.

Scanning the rest of the room her eyes landed on another figure, dressed in all black casual clothing. The same clothing he had been wearing last evening when she had left the office. He didn't look as worn out as Danny, but by now he was well trained in hiding his exhaustion in public. She knew this stance, knew the signs and she could see them right there. How many of the people around them would notice it, too? Not many, probably. His mask had gotten too good during the years. It's hard to see through it if your eyes are not trained for it. But she knew he had jumped at the chance to wrap this case up, no matter what the danger might have been. She could practically see the adrenaline still pumping through his veins, trying to find a place or a way to vent, so he wouldn't blow up with all the rage and anger boiling up inside of him.

Sometimes she hated to be right.

"What the hell were Mac and Danny doing here?"

The question had left her mouth before she could stop herself. But Hawks wasn't the one who could answer it. All he could give her was a silent shrug. He motioned towards their young colleague as if he wanted to tell her, she should ask one of them in person. Well if any one of those two was ready to give her some answers, it was this one. She didn't expect her partner to provide any information. In fact by then she would consider herself lucky if he ever look at her again.

Danny didn't hear her approach, another sign how much this was still affecting him. While she couldn't blame him for it, it still fueled her concern. She knew they had all developed their own way of coping with it. Lindsay was concentrating on her adorable little daughter. Sheldon was trying to keep himself occupied 24/7. Danny was trying to ignore the fact that he might never walk again…

Her eyes drifted further down the room where her partner stood with another officer, giving his statement, while obviously trying to avoid her eyes. He was still doing it, still keeping away from her. Maybe that was his way of coping with it – retreating to a shell he had left so many years ago. It hurt thinking about him like this. She could see he was in pain; emotional pain, nothing physical this time – thankfully. But he was hurting and while he refused to accept her help he also denied her the comfort she herself still needed.

She wasn't sure what hurt more, seeing him like this or knowing he didn't want her to change it.

"Danny?" she asked carefully so he wouldn't be spooked.

He turned his head around and gave her a sad little smile, knowing already why she was there. For a moment he looked away, seeking their bosses form not too far away as if it could provide any help against her questions. But the look wasn't returned and no help given. Instead the focus of both their attention nodded at the officer and took off to one of the elevators. So finally Danny gave in to her, starting several days ago, when he had begun to bring himself back into the investigation – despite the fact he was still on medical leave.

"So, the tips hotline transferred the call directly to my cell."

She wanted to give him a slap over the head when he came to that part. How could he have done this? He was in no shape to deal with this kind of crap. Of course she knew he couldn't stay put, but this was the wrong way. Only she didn't say it, because she was sure he knew that already. Also it was quite clear he was expecting some serious words from his wife as soon as she arrived at the scene. So she let him continue with his story.

"She specifically wanted to talk to me, in that she had information regarding the shooting at the bar."

Okay, so this was really about their case. Meaning they could actually get somewhere now. Maybe this would turn out into a solid lead. Well, it still didn't change the fact it was reckless to come here without backup. If they knew the woman might be involved in the shooting, they should have called reinforcement and take her in for interrogation right away.

"Gave me an address and a time to meet, so I called Mac."

At least Danny had shown some kind of common sense by that. This might have turned out differently – worse – if he had come here alone. No way of telling what might have happened with him being alone with their victim, no gun, no backup, nobody knowing where he was.

She shoved the thought away rather quickly.

"The shooting at the bar was a month ago. Why wait so long?" she asked him.

But he didn't have any idea. Well how could he. The only one who might have been able to tell them about it was lying dead in a pool of her own blood just a couple of feet away from them. In a way the whole scene screamed set up and she couldn't imagine what had gone through that woman's head when she asked Danny to come here.

Maybe Danny was right and she didn't know earlier. But then, why hadn't she told them over the phone? Why all the secrecy? It would have been much easier to just tell them what they needed to hear and drop off the face of the earth. Nobody would ever have known she was the informant.

The safest way for all of them.

But she didn't. She had insisted on meeting them, on meeting Danny. So maybe it was like he suspected; that the woman needed to see the damage whoever she had tried to protect had caused. Unfortunately it never brought the desired outcome. Because now their informant was dead and they had very little more to work on than they had had the day before.

"Look, did our Jane Doe give you anything that we can run with?"

Danny shrugged then thought for a second. "Yeah. She said we're looking for a Jake."

Jake… their first clue.

So she got everyone to continue processing the scene. When Lindsay turned up she smiled at the young woman and nodded towards Danny. Lindsay picked up on the unspoken order and went over to check on her husband, who was already trying to process the scene in his own way – still ignoring the fact he was neither on duty nor declared fit for it.

Shortly after she saw the last one of their current team exit the elevator. When she saw him turning towards her she quickly looked away, not ready to talk about what had happened right then. But instead of coming over to her as she expected, she could hear his cheery voice making his way over to their married couple.

Amazing how this kid could make a sour day at least a tad bit brighter by simply entering the scene.

Why had she done this? She should never have gone with him to that bar. At least she should have gotten drunk enough to blame it on the alcohol. But no, she had to stay sober, had to be conscious enough to actually know what she was doing. And still she hadn't stopped when they arrived at the motel, hadn't stopped him from paying for the room like the perfect little gentlemen he had tried to be during the whole night.

His hands had even been shaking when he paid in cash, his voice broken and stuttering when he asked her if she was sure she wanted him to be there. And she said yes although in a way she didn't. Not because it was him, but because he wasn't… he simply was the wrong man, despite the fact he seemed to be the only one at the time. In a way she had used him and sooner or later she had to tell him just that.

She would have to tell them both.

But not right then. Right then they had a crime scene to process, evidence to find and a shooter to catch. So she got back to her work, looking back and forth between her four colleagues, seeing them carefully checking out each other, silently asking for answers none of them could provide. They would have to follow the evidence and hope this was the breakthrough they've been waiting for. At least this way their Jane Doe wouldn't have died for nothing.

Some hours later nothing had changed about their investigation of the construction site shooting. Hawks had seen to their victim getting on Sid's table as fast as possible, while Adam and Lindsay had wrapped up their scene. This had left her to drive back to the lab on her own. It also gave her more time to think about what she had done. Seemed as if this guilt would stay with her a bit longer. Well, she probably deserved that – as much as she deserved whatever fallout this would have for her. She was the older one, the senior officer; she should have known better than to let her emotions take over.

Those thoughts had haunted her for every second since then, because she still couldn't bring herself to talk to either of the two men.

When she exited the elevator on the 35th floor that evening her eyes immediately turned to the office across the hallway. He wasn't in there. For a change there was no haggard looking best friend in this office, looking at every piece of evidence they had collected in the last month and a half. Even if she tried she couldn't count the amount of times she had seen him going through it, reading the witness accounts over and over again. All because he hoped there was this single clue he hadn't spotted so far. Now that they actually found something, even if it was in the form of yet another body, it seemed as if he was renewing his efforts.

How long until he would break down?

But every time she had gone in there and told him to take a step back, to rest and take care of himself, he would just shake his head and continue looking for… whatever he hoped to find in this mountain of useless information. His whole office was covered in photos and descriptions. He even had part of one of the broken windows in there! How far would this go? He had neglected his other cases, adding them to her case load instead. And while she could understand his determination to solve this – and the reason why he had to do it – this was not healthy. None of it.

Slowly her steps guided her over to his office. This was maybe the first time she actually looked at them herself. They were everywhere, his normally neat handwriting now down to shaky white lines on the windows. He had used every little space he could find in here to put it all up. Because he couldn't use one of the labs or a layout room anymore. They were supposed to put this case down, to only investigate it 'low grade', whenever the normal case load allowed for it. Another unsolved case for 'the pile'. But he couldn't wrap it up and put it here. He had to keep this one on display because he couldn't stop.

Not with this case.

Suddenly she heard footsteps behind her and when she turned around he was there. Looking tired again. The adrenalin had vanished, leaving determination and stubbornness behind. Still enough to keep him going. He was usually best at those times. A determined Mac Taylor is more dangerous than any criminal could ever be. Because a determined Mac Taylor always gets his man.

And he won't stop for anything… or anybody.

"You used to file unsolved cases in a single folder on the corner of your desk," she finally told him; hoping her voice won't betray her. She even tried to smile, but it faded quickly when she saw him trying to avoid her gaze – again.

But then he looked back at her, his grey-blue eyes dark and hooded but looking at her for the first time in weeks. Normally she should be glad because it was what she had wanted. Wasn't it? She wanted him to look at her to see her to see what she needed. That she needed him more than anything. But he had refused to look at her. And now that he did it, she was afraid he would see what she had done; would see how she failed.

"Yeah, well… none of those cases put someone I know in a wheelchair."

The answer was simple and she knew it was the truth. But she also knew there's more about it. And for once it seemed as if he was finally opening up. As if this one night of them both making stupid decisions had cleared away the wall that had been standing between them.

"Or threatened the lives of people I care about," he continued voice a bit lower but still sounding weary. And he was turning away from her again, walking behind his desk as if he needed additional space between them. So she couldn't reach him that easily.

"None of those cases was personal," he tried to placate her. But it didn't work. If anything it made her more determined.

She knew that wasn't true anyway. There had been personal cases before: Aiden's death, Lessing, Evan Scott, the dead Mac Taylors, Drew, the cabby killer kidnapping Reed and last but not least Angell… No, there had been plenty of personal cases before this one. But he was right about one thing. This was probably the first of those personal cases they couldn't solve right away.

"Mac, what happened last night?"

She heard herself asking the question before her brain had been able to properly process it. When he turned around for a second she could have sworn she saw the same question reflected back at her. Did he know? Did he suspect? Would he say something? What the hell would she say? At some point she had to tell him what happened.

Not because he was her boss, but because he was her friend.

She wasn't ready to go there right then though, so she back paddled. "You and Danny, no back up, no heads up…"

Again she had to pause, but forced the words out none-the-less: "Not to mention, it was dangerous…"

No sooner had she said it, he looked away from her again. She was about to call him on this, when he finally looked back at her for real. His eyes were darker than usual and she could hear the strain in his voice, feel the anger still emanating from his very being. That was when she understood that while those other cases had been personal, this was even deeper. Somebody had attacked his family and he couldn't find the guy who did it. This wasn't just personal.

This was about honor and pride, too.

"I've been studying these walls for the past three weeks trying to answer one question," he finally started to explain. She could hear the rage inside his voice when it cracked on the last words. "Who had a reason to want one of us or all of us dead?"

Well that was the one hundred million dollar question. They've all been asking themselves that. Everyone had gone through their own cases, trying to find anything linking an old case to their shooting. But there hadn't been anything. If it was connected to an old case at all. For all they knew it could be one of their ongoing investigations that had ticked somebody off.

"Despite all this evidence," he continued and pulled her back to the present. "Crime reports, possible suspects, witness accounts… I'm no closer to the identity of the shooter than the night it happened."

He?

"Three people were seriously wounded. The bartender died."

He was no closer?

"Danny's in that chair. So when he called…" His voice was getting hoarse again at this time.

"You had to do something." She knew she was right even before he gave her his quite angered affirmation.

"Damn right! What did Shakespeare say? 'Tempt not a desperate man.'" His voice was getting calmer again by then. "Going to that building seemed like my only option."

Well maybe it had been the only option he had seen at the time. But it was still wrong and something inside her started to boil because of it. He was keeping it all inside, all to himself. Okay, so maybe this was his personal vendetta; maybe the case was more than personal to him. But it was personal to her too. Hell, it was to all of them! He wasn't the only one who had to see Danny's blood pooling below him; he wasn't the only one scared they might lose another friend so shortly after Angell.

"You keep using words like 'my', 'me', 'I'. You are not in this alone, Mac."

He just looked at her, actually looked at her for the first time in weeks. And that was when she could see the anger inside him burning down a notch, leaving nothing but the tired looking man behind. She looked back at him, pleading with him to see reason and to let her help him in whatever way he was able to accept at the time. But there were still some remnants of this wall left he had erected around himself as soon as they had started to investigate the shooting at the bar. And she could see him struggling with whatever conflict was still raging inside him. Could see he wanted to say something, maybe even ask for something, but he didn't. Instead, he stared at her and dared her to call him on it. That was when the phone suddenly rang and cut off whatever he might have answered her.

Saved by the bell – for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one takes place during episode 6.1 "Epilogue". Some dialogue lines (e.g. on the scene with the dead informant girl and the scene with Mac and Stella at his office) are directly from the episode, the rest is again my imagination going wild.


	16. Unheard Scream 4

Forty-five minutes later they both found themselves at another crime scene; a crime scene way too familiar with their own. All right, so it wasn't a bar but a night club and no windows were shot but a wall full of holes. Still… looking around at the people's faces full of fear felt just the same. And when her partner showed her one of the casings he had found, they were even surer that this was done by the same people who had shot at them.

That's why the woman at that construction site had to die.

She had tried to warn them, to tell them what would happen. And if she hadn't known what her 'friends' had planned exactly, then she at least had known something was going to happen. Thankfully, this time nobody had been hurt. No dead body, no seriously wounded bystander who might end up in a wheelchair just like Danny.

Doubtful her partner would take something like this very well. He was still feeling guilty and responsible for what happened to their friend. Even if he had to know this wasn't his fault. How could it? He hadn't shot them. No, the only ones responsible were those who actually held the gun and fired it. Well and maybe their Jane Doe because she might have known about the first shooting, too. Only that time she hadn't warned anybody.

Suddenly the people around them started pointing upwards to one of the large neon advertisement boards. For a second her brain couldn't wrap around the fact that New York actually found a billboard more entertaining than an active crime scene. Not the usual way their 'audience' reacted. So all three of them looked up and saw it themselves. A message.

Do we have your attention?  
Pay us and we'll stop!

"These sons of bitches are fearless…"

Well, Don was right about that. Shooting at a couple of cops in a bar and about a month later at some innocent bystanders in front of a night club was one thing, but openly challenge the whole town by making an announcement in middle of Times Square was another thing. This was so bold it was bordering on stupid. Which might work out in their favor. Criminals that start doing stupid things also make mistakes. And with all that determination her partner had put into this case so far, he would find every microscopic piece of evidence they left with one of those mistakes.

They definitely got their attention.

That's why they all came together for brainstorming. When she entered the meeting room she was startled for a moment. Not because they were actually meeting as a team for the first time since the original shooting at the bar but because Danny was there. As was her partner. He was there, actually looking at her for a moment when she closed the glass door and went over to her usual spot.

He held her eyes for the first time in more than a month and something inside her began to relax. She had no idea what had made him look at her but she was glad. Okay, so it had taken another shooting for him to do that and deep inside she knows it's terribly wrong to think that way but she's glad it happened. Because somehow it started to give her the peace of mind she had so unsuccessfully sought elsewhere.

When they were all there her partner started the meeting like he had done so many times before. But this time it was different. They could all feel the hope radiating out of him. The same hope she had felt when she drove back from Times Square the night before. Their perps were starting to make mistakes and now it was only a question of time till they got them. Better even. Since they had been bold enough to make their ransom declaration for everyone to see, their case was back to priority one with the mayor.

And nobody would stop them now until they got those bastards.

"Times Square billboard? That's pretty bold," Danny finally voiced what everyone was thinking.

"Or the ultimate form of panic," Mac interrupted suit.

She nodded because deep inside she knew he was right. There was no way to explain it but her instincts were screaming at her that this was not the original plan of those guys but their way to escape from whatever had gone wrong in the first place.

"They know we're on to them. They have no idea what Jane Doe told us before they killed her. They're accelerating their plan. They have to get theirs before we get them."

"Which means they're going to make mistakes," she continued her partner's thoughts. He looked at her then and nodded. Seemed as if at least concerning this case they were back to their routine.

That's when Lindsay dropped in and explained about the Astoria shooting one of the reports had mentioned to Mac before. Obviously the shooting at them hadn't been these guys only target. But it also made it more and more clear, that none of them had actually been a target. She looked at her partner and saw the weary and hardened look on his face when he checked the notes Lindsay had given him.

He had been looking the wrong way.

She could see it in the wrinkles on his forehead in the tightly pressed lips. He was pissed off again. But this time because of what he had done – or better what he hadn't done. Like all of them he had been so focused on finding somebody with a reason to shoot at them, that it had never occurred to him that they weren't the target.

None of the other people at the bar had made up for a good target – least of all the bartender, the only fatality. So their conclusion had been that somebody had been shooting at them, a group of cops drinking at a bar. They had even contemplated to look into Angell's case again because this might have been related. But while those thoughts had crossed their minds at one time or another, they never really believed this could be anything but another cop shooting.

And they've been wrong about that.

Seemed as if they were making mistakes too – for a quite a while now. They better stopped doing so or those thugs making mistakes of their own wouldn't help them one bit. Maybe the recognition that they had had been wrong before was the reason why her partner didn't go ballistic when he heard of the undocumented print in the elevator. But then, maybe he just hadn't wanted to embarrass Adam even more. But it got her thinking.

"Mac, you said you discharged your weapon twice in the direction of the shooter, right?"

He nodded, his eyes glazing over while he tried to remember two nights ago. Again she wondered if he had any sleep since then. If his tired face was any indication he hadn't. At least he had showered and changed clothes at some point. But neither did anything to hide the exhaustion plain in his whole stance.

"A bullet could've grazed him," he finally answered.

"Yeah, then how does his blood end up on the ceiling?"

"I pulled the fire alarm to alert building security. Maybe he attempted an escape out the top of the elevator?" He looked at her for a moment and something inside her started to warm again. They were finally coming back out of this hell hole. She could feel it inside her, could feel the void slowly closing. "There was no surveillance evidence suggesting he went out the front door of the building."

He continued to look at her and she could see the side of his mouth slowly forming into a little smirk when she smiled at him. Yes, they were back in the game – in full vengeance.

"Either way, we just might have found the DNA that can identify our shooter."

Deep inside she knew she was right. This was the clue they had been searching for this last month. And while it took another shooting and sadly one more fatality in form of this young woman… at that moment it looked very well as if it would be the piece of evidence leading them to their goal.

Another two hours later, another crime scene. But this time she was actually glad to be the one to take a look at this one. Because they had finally found the missing guard from the office building under construction. Just as she had been hoping they were getting closer and closer to their guys by the minute. It's true what they say. Once the bad guys started to make mistakes, they're becoming easier targets. Although she would wish their clue had been something else than another dead body.

Okay, so that's her job but these kinds of trails are not her favorite…

But it was good to see Don back to his usual investigative self. It seemed as if he was slowly getting out of what had happened in the wake of Angell's shooting. Alright, so he was still wearing jeans and a sweatshirt rather than his usual suit and dress shirt but… well he wasn't the only detective in casual clothing. And only a month after her death you had to cut the man some slack. She has seen other men far deeper down – well only one specific man to be honest. Still Don was holding up pretty well. Although she suspected it had everything to do with the missing desire for revenge in his eyes.

But the case was finally getting back on track. With every piece of evidence they picked up – starting from the shooting at the office building to the dead guard in the alley – they got further and further. Each piece revealed something else, another detail, another hunch, another idea.

When she came back to the lab she could see Danny and Lindsay working on one of her partner's assignments. Obviously he was back on track too, no more working alone in his office but instead working together with them again. It was how they work the best; it was why their 'case solved' rate was so high and it was also what they should have done to begin with.

Granted, they hadn't had all this evidence then, but still…

"We got a hit in CODIS."

When Adam said the words she was ready to jump and kiss him but in light of what had happened several nights ago and the fact that Sheldon was in the room, too, she stopped herself from doing more stupid things. Finally, they were really getting somewhere. They had a name, they had DNA, and they were getting closer to those guys by the minute. After one month of waiting in fear they got closer and closer to them.

Only to be kicked back when she found out that their suspect died at Trinity General Hospital – the night of the shooting in the office building. She was weary of letting the others know because it would dampen their hope. So she went in search of the one man she knew would need to know everything as soon as possible.

The whole day he had been walking around the labs, alternating between the layout rooms, several labs and analyzing stations and his own office. Actually she had seen him in the hallways more often today than during the whole last month. But his stance was still a bit drawn back, only testament to how worn out he really was. They had to finish this case because she needed to talk to him about what had happened the night he and Danny almost got shot.

And about what hadn't happened before that.

But first they had a case to close. And thankfully they finally got lucky and got this last piece of evidence they needed. Granted, the case almost ended in a disaster after Jake Calaveras shot his last partner. A whole month of investigation and out of the three partners only one was left standing. On the other hand they had three innocent fatalities, one serious injured cop and god knows how many traumatized bystanders.

Nothing about this case would be over for them soon. She could see it in her partner's stance when he talked to the boy in the interrogation room. At first there was only cold anger running through him, while he stood behind the boy and listened to him telling them what they wanted to hear, how those three young guys had the idea to press ransom from the City of New York. With every minute the boy kept talking the anger burned hotter and hotter until it was a raging fire.

Close to explosion.

But something changed when he walked around the table and looked at the boy, really looked at him like she did through the observation window. This wasn't a shooter; this wasn't a cold blooded killer. This was a boy how had gotten into something way over his head and he had taken his sister with him. His sister who had tried nothing less than to protect her little brother.

Her eyes wandered over to her partner, to his slumped shoulders. The tension was gone from his back; his arms hanging almost limp beside him. He was tired and exhausted. And now this case was denying him the satisfaction of an actual arrest. Oh they would arrest Jake Calaveras. But not for the shooting at the bar because he almost certainly wasn't there. They would arrest him for the murder of Tyson Menlo – and if they got lucky for conspiracy.

But nothing more; nothing less either.

Again she looked at her partner and wished she could undo what had happened during the last month. But she couldn't and she knew there was one more thing to do before she could face him. Now that this case was over she would have to face him, to salvage whatever was left of the friendship they've had.

That's how she came to be here right now. Walking through these hallways to get her stuff before she talks to…

"Hey Stella!"

… him, actually.

"Um, about the other night." Seemed as if she's not the only one who feels the need to talk. Only she hadn't planned to do this in bright daylight in the middle of the hallway, when her best friend might come around the corner any minute now.

"Adam, it was wonderful," she spurts out before she thinks about it.

That's such a cheesy line and she can see him inwardly cringing at what is about to come. But she can't stop herself because now that she has started she has to bring it to an end, no matter how cruel this is; has been from the moment she took him with her for a drink.

"And stupid, and spontaneous and memorable." And almost too painful to remember because she wishes he hadn't been so sweet about… just everything because it would make telling him this so much easier; it would make hurting him somehow more bearable.

"Yeah…"

"And not something we should ever do again."

There it is and maybe it is her imagination but she could swear she sees something shatter behind those icy blue eyes of his. Something she crushed because she had needed company; because she had been selfish and tired of screaming for help when her pleading wasn't answered.

"You took the words right out of my mouth."

It's a lie, she can see it. At that moment she can read him like a book, like she used to read… this other guy. But she doesn't call him on it, doesn't tell him she knows his smile is false and a lie in its own. If he can deal with it better this way, so be it.

And she's selfish one more time when she leaves him behind.

She drops in on Lindsay on her way to her own office. Maybe it's just another way of avoiding the talk she knew she'll have to face sooner or later. But to be honest she likes to think she was really worried about the young woman. Something is bothering her and although neither one of them actually talks about it, she knows Lindsay will do what she always does. She will go home and kiss her baby before she drives to the hospital to get Danny from rehab.

Is that how their lives will be from now on? Lies and deception from one another?

When she finally walks to her office she can see her partner in his office. He didn't waste any time… Most of the pictures are already gone from the walls and the windows. Some are still left as are all the files and witness accounts lying around everywhere. In a way he still looks drawn back, still hidden in his self-acclaimed shell; his bunker shielding him from everything and everyone outside.

Without saying something she enters his office, unsure what to say – if she should say anything at all. He doesn't know what she did; he doesn't need to know. The kid won't tell him; won't risk the wrath. They could just keep on going like they always did, return to that comfortable companionship they used to share.

Slowly she picks up one of the boxes and starts to put in the files closest to her. She can see him looking at her for a moment, wondering why she is here and not at home already. But he doesn't say anything, just keeps continuing packing – same as she is. They're both trying to avoid this talk and still, she knows she has to tell him.

Because they promised to not keep things from each other anymore.

She had promised him to be honest with him after her 'whale hunting' – his words not her. So even if this was rather personal and had nothing to do with their professional relationship… She knows she has to tell him what happened. But she doesn't know how. He's not only her friend, he's also her boss and what she has done could very well have professional consequences for her; no matter how hard she tries to ignore this fact.

"You want to have some dinner tonight?" he suddenly asks and pulls her out of her musings.

"Dinner?"

"Yeah. Dinner. Eating food. We… Just… Never mind."

They fall back to silence while trying to fit the last items in the remaining boxes. Silence… again. Is that all they can do anymore? She used to be comfortable with this silence because for them it never was anything more than the absence of spoken words. There were so many things said between them with just a look, a gesture, the… blink of an eye. But now, like during the last month, silence actually means absence of communication – any form of communication. And she can't do this anymore.

"Why did you ignore me?" she finally whispers.

He looks at her for a moment before he lifts another box to put it on a wheeled table, so the clerk can get them on his next run and transport them to storage.

"I didn't."

"I… I practically begged you to…"

Without answering her he takes the next two boxes and puts them on the table besides the other ones.

"I needed you, Mac." She can feel tears welling up in her eyes. With a pang all the loneliness and fear is back – but this time it's paired with guilt and regret. And regret is probably the most prominent feeling she got right now. It was a mistake to take Adam to that bar; an even bigger one to take him to the motel. It never gave her all the relief she was seeking and instead made her even more miserable. Giving in to her desperation only brought her more hurt.

She made a mistake out of loneliness and now she'll have to face the price.

When he takes the last box out of her hand he holds her eyes for no more than a second. "I know," he whispers back before he lifts the box and puts it on the table, too. He still has his back turned to her, shaking his head and repeating: "I know…"

"Then why…?"

She can see the defeat in his eyes when he finally turns around and looks at her again. It's hard fighting her tears as it is but seeing him like this… For the first time in weeks she has the feeling to look at the real Mac Taylor, the tired and weary soul laying barren to her; bleeding out right in front of her. And it hurts knowing she'll only add more fuel to that, widen the wound and throw some salt into it, so it could fester even more. She should go; she's only going to hurt him. He doesn't have to know, doesn't ever have to know.

But when she turns to run outside he's there, right in front of her, shielding her teary face from anyone passing by the glass windows of his office. Most of their colleagues went home a while ago but some might still be here. Her heart is aching because she doesn't want to put the burden on him; the burden of knowing his partner did something really, really stupid.

Suddenly she can feel his right hand coming up, slowly caressing her left cheek and it's all to make her break. Crying for real now she lets her head drop against his chest, heaving while his left hand starts to draw slow circles on her back. Why has she been so selfish? She hurt one man already today. Does she really have to hurt another one? Does she have to hurt this one?

She can't do this anymore!

"I couldn't…," he suddenly whispers next to her ear. Trying to stop her own sobbing she can only voice a croak but no real words. Her throat is constricted and it's hard enough to breath, speaking is totally out of the question.

Then she feels his lips barely brush her temple, pushing her over the top again with another wave of tears and another knife tearing up her insides. "I couldn't…," he whispers again but this time his voice is sounding hoarse and close to tears, too. He takes one last deep breath before he finally gives her the answer she's been waiting for.

"I couldn't be the man you'd regret being with."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one takes place during and after episode 6.1 "Epilogue". Some dialogues (e.g. the shooting at the night club and the team meeting) are directly from the episode, the rest is my take on what else might have happened.


	17. Unheard Scream 5

"I couldn't be the man you'd regret being with."

Thinking back to that moment in time, she's not sure if she got the full meaning of those words right away. No, actually she's quite sure it took her several seconds to understand what they meant. But when she finally did, it hit her like a truck. He knew! He knew what she had done. Even worse. He might even have known how much it was eating at her; how much she still resented herself for ever taking Adam with her.

Suddenly it was all clear to her. During the last month whenever she had tried to form one coherent and logical thought something inside her had simply refused to go anywhere near that part of her brain. He knew and he would be totally in his rights to resent her just the same. Not because she took Adam to that motel but because she had driven herself to a point where she felt that anyone would be sufficient; because she had felt like there was no other way. There's always another option. She just hadn't been ready to accept another one. And the only remaining option she had seen at the time had been the one he had so vehemently denied her.

And he had been right in denying it to her.

If it hadn't been Adam but him... she wasn't so sure anymore how she would have felt otherwise. By then she had been way too desperate, way too frustrated with his seemingly unexplainable behavior. She had never really thought about 'afterwards'. All this time she had been screaming for comfort, knowing deep inside that this time a simple hug and a good night's sleep wouldn't do it. But she had ignored it because she hadn't been ready to cope with the consequences; hadn't been ready to even acknowledge that there would be consequences and a price to pay.

"I don't want to know about it."

She heard his whisper, his voice somewhat broken as if he was close to tears himself and again she wondered why she hadn't recognized it before; hadn't seen how close to the brink he had been. Why hadn't she seen it?

Maybe because it's been a lifetime since she last saw him cry.

Finally realizing that she hadn't been the only one ignoring what had been plain to see her heart broke just a tad bit more. As much as she would have liked to give him - and maybe also her self - a reason, anything to explain why she did it, why she had gotten so desperate… she simply couldn't. There were no words left inside her to explain what she had felt this last month. She had tried to voice it before, but obviously she had failed or they wouldn't have ended up in his office like this. All she had wanted was to fill this void inside her, to fill it with something that held more than a promise for tomorrow. But while the void hadn't grown any bigger since...well it just hadn't really closed either.

Suddenly fear started to surge up inside her. What if it would never be closed again? What if she would see in his eyes how much he resented her now, knowing where her desperation had led her? She couldn't deal with that; she couldn't stomach seeing him loathe her for it. Not only because it would add even more remorse to her guilt. No, it was never that easy with her, was it? She was simply afraid for another fucking selfish reason. Because she simply knew that if this put a rift between them, the void inside her would never fully close again. Could she really live with this pit in her stomach for the rest of her life?

Never knowing if it was a remnant from the shooting or her night with Adam.

She's not sure how long they stood there in his office. Actually, she's not even sure if she wants to know it. Maybe it's better she doesn't. That way she'll never have to think about how many of their colleagues might have walked by, seeing them standing there, clinging to each other as if it could bring them back to a time and place where everything had seemed alright with the world. She doesn't really want to think about stuff like this when she remembers that moment. That moment in time when she wasn't sure anymore where misery ended and blissfulness started.

Somehow the silent embrace seemed to do what a night in that cheesy motel couldn't.

Slowly she was calming down again. Deep inside herself she could feel the warmth spread again and fill her up. She could still feel something missing inside her, but it wasn't unbearable anymore.

So she closed her eyes and simply held on to him. It felt so normal, so familiar. His arms around her, his chest vibrating against her with every breath he took. And even if his breath was coming rather haggard, it was steady; proof to him really being alive. Involuntarily her grip on him tightened when she remembers her fear of him being dead. He was really there, he wasn't gone. Again she felt tears welling up in her eyes, only this time they weren't out of desperation. Instead it was relief.

The nightmare started to fade.

She hadn't dreamed him up. He had always been there. This was her reality. And even if right then it was filled with guilt and remorse, it was still her reality. A reality where he was alive, breathing and holding her tightly. Maybe the nightmare could end right then and there. Somehow they might be able to get over this; somehow every last piece of this nightmare might fade into nothing.

"Come on," he suddenly urged her, loosening his arms to let her step away.

She didn't want to step away from him!

But he lifted her face up and smiled at her. That gentle and knowing little smile she adored so much because it had always shown her the real Mac Taylor. The one that didn't ignore his friend's needs; the one that would always be there for her whenever she needed him. Looking in his eyes, she could see hurt and fear, something she had rarely seen there before.

But she also saw a spark of that real Mac.

Once more tears threatened to spill from her eyes but his smile never wavered and slowly she started to believe in it. Mostly because he never stopped caressing her cheek; never so much as hesitated. He was still trying to bring her back from wherever this spiral of guilt and regret had taken her to. Yes, he knew what she had done but she was quite certain he didn't know who she had actually taken to that motel. And hopefully he didn't need to know. She didn't have to tell him everything, did she? She didn't have to hurt him even more…

"Come on," he repeated himself. "Dinner invitation's still open."

Still incapable of actually voicing any reply, she simply nodded. Who knew what else might have spilled out of her mouth the second she opened it? If their way of silently communicating whatever they wanted to say ever had its reason, this was it. They could get through this. She could feel it in every gentle touch, every considerate motion, even in every word he said. He was trying really hard. So she should do the same. All this worrying about the proverbial spilled milk would not help them in any way. Instead she should be glad because in a way she just got what she had begged for during the last month.

He had finally stopped ignoring her.

That's what she had wanted all the time, wasn't it? She had wanted him to talk to her, to hold her and be there for her. And that's what he was doing right then while they stood in his office. So she should be thankful and happy. Actually, she should be thrilled he hadn't thrown her out of right away.

Then why was guilt still the one primary emotion inside her?

She's not sure if he saw her still struggling with this. If he did, he never said a word about it. Instead he wiped the last of her tears away and silently urged her outside. Maybe it would have been the sensible thing to tell him she was okay and that he didn't have to look after her anymore. But it would have been a lie and she had no desire whatsoever to lie to him.

So she didn't say anything while he pushed her in the direction of her own office; grabbing his jacket on the way out. Slowly but steadily her legs obeyed his unspoken orders and guided her to where he wanted her to go. On autopilot, she grabbed her purse and her own coat while he waited at the door, watching her like a hawk. Probably looking for any signs of breakdown.

She should be the one watching him. After all she's the one who got some relief during the last month… no matter how bad this might turn out to be for her in the months to follow. He was the one who had worked 24/7 without any real rest. By all means, he was the one who denied himself any kind of comfort.

Didn't he?

Suddenly a stabbing pain raced through her, hurting her even more than her own guilt had so far. Who's to say, he didn't get his own kind of comfort? She couldn't really blame him for it, could she? Not after what she had done with Adam. But somehow the thought still hurt.

How pathetic of her! She had no right to even think about this. If he had gotten some comfort with somebody else, she should be the last person to deny him that. God knows they had both been in need for some TLC for quite a while. How could she blame him if he got what he needed somewhere else? She had tried the same, albeit looking back quite unsuccessfully. Maybe he had found a better way.

But the stabbing pain didn't stop, if anything it got even stronger the more she tried to reason with herself. They're not a couple; they never did cross that last boundary. So why would thinking about how he might have gone elsewhere to find solace hurt her like that? Why did she feel betrayed, when she was the one doing the betrayal in the first place?

Was that how he felt?

"Let's go, Stella."

His voice was calm and if he was angry with her, she couldn't hear any of it in his voice. Maybe he was just controlling himself. Because she could still feel the stabbing inside her just thinking about him going to somebody else when she was practically begging for him to look at her.

She wanted to know. Yes, she wanted to know if he could ignore her like that because he had found somebody else to give him the comfort he himself had needed. On the other hand, she wasn't sure what it would do to her if she ever knew. Not knowing hurt, but what might this knowledge do to her instead?

"Mac?" she started only to stop herself before she could actually voice the question.

Did she really want to know? What good could it probably do to know the truth?!

"I don't want to know about it," he whispered again.

He was right. Not knowing might turn out to be better. Looking at it more logically he had been at the lab most of his waking days. When would he have gone out to find some peace of mind? He had been working all the time, trying to find the guy who tried to kill them. So he had ignored her… but she's quite sure that had nothing to do with him getting comfort elsewhere.

Unlike herself.

She turned around and looked at him. Since that shooting, he had avoided her gaze and she still didn't understand why. In a way she wanted to ask him because she had no desire left in her to keep this silent communication thing up indefinitely. They would have to talk sooner or later.

Actually, she wanted to tell him everything then and there. She wanted to explain to him why she had done it. But she couldn't. He looked exhausted and tired, maybe even more than before they had wrapped up this case. Why couldn't her brain slow down a bit for a change? Why did it still insist on thinking this through to the end, no matter where this might lead them.

If she could believe this wouldn't leave a scar on both of them, she would have been out of the office in a heartbeat.

"Please, Stella…"

All of a sudden her mind took her back to several weeks ago, when she had been standing right over there in his office, practically pleading with him. Not so very different from how he was pleading with her now. Only, she had begged for him to stop ignoring her, to take her home and be there for her.

No, that's not true.

Simply being there wouldn't have been enough. She knew that now; she knew how overwhelming her desperation had been even so soon into this whole disaster. Her plea had never really been about him taking her home to hold her. What she had wanted was more, the same thing she got from somebody else.

He was right… if he had given in to her need she might very well have regretted it right after. They both might have. Just like she regrets ever staying at that motel. It wouldn't really make any difference, would it? Using Adam or using her best friend…she would have hurt either one.

Maybe it's another selfish thought but somehow she's glad it's the kid that got hurt and not her partner. Adam's her friend, too but the feeling is different. And although it might be awful to think like that, she had been selfish for quite some time now.

She has enough stuff to feel guilty about already.

And she would feel a very different level of regret if the man she had used would have been one Mac Taylor instead. She wouldn't really regret being with him per se. Most of all she would regret spending a night like this with her best friend for such a shallow and selfish reason. He had been right to deny it to her. And maybe he had saved them both from even more hurt by doing so.

This way they were still friends; still best friends. At least she hoped they were. No, she was sure they were because otherwise they wouldn't be standing there, staring at each other; him waiting for her to make up her mind. She hurt him; couldn't really deny it any longer. And if he ever got to know who she took with her that night, it would probably hurt him even more. But he doesn't really have to know, does he?

"Dinner…?" he suddenly interrupted her thoughts.

She smiled at him and this time it was genuine. "My car," she answered and walked up to him. "You don't really look like you're fit to drive…"

She wasn't sure why she said that. Okay, so he did look tired and exhausted but she had seen him in worse condition. Solving a case always gave him this little boost. And she's quite sure it would last for another hour to get to whichever restaurant they might end up. But something inside her was insistent that she'd take him with her instead of going with him.

In the end, she was the one who was supposed to have relieved herself of some of that tension already.

About half an hour later they're in front of her apartment building and he's looking at her with some surprise. Well to be honest she's surprised too. It's not just about the fact he didn't argue with her over who's got to drive but instead just nodded and followed her to her car. She is more surprised that they were here now.

Because she had actually planned to drive to an Italian restaurant they had frequently visited before.

But as soon as they got into the car, somehow the prospect of having dinner in public wasn't appealing to her at all tonight. She didn't want for them to sit there and pretend nothing had happened while they ate in uncomfortable silence. Because neither of them would have talked about what had happened. It's hard enough for them to voice anything if they're in the private sanctuary of their homes; it would never happen in public.

That's how they had ended up here, in front of her apartment building, staring at each other. Okay, so maybe this is also about her needing him to come up with her. Because if he does it's another sign of him not being repulsed by what she had done. It's not as if she can believe in him reacting that way. She knows how he is when he's pissed off and there was nothing of that visible in anything he did or said so far this evening.

They had spent the last month alternating between hurting and ignoring each other. It was time they really got back on track.

"I thought I'd cook something tonight." Not really the truth but if he saw it, he didn't call her on it. To be honest, she's not even sure she's got something in her fridge to make anything resembling dinner. But if everything fails…"We could always order in if you're not sure about my cuisine."

"What about your rules?" She looks him in the eyes and sees a sparkle there that belies his evasive words.

"The no cooking after nine pm rule?" His laugh is genuine and it makes her heart open up a bit more; while the pit in her stomach closes another inch or two. "So we order some Thai."

He smiles at her again and nods. So they finally get out of the car and slowly make their way to her apartment. The ride in the elevator is quiet again. She can still feel the whole affair eating at her insides but it doesn't feel as bad anymore. Maybe it's just her getting used to feeling this guilty by now though.

They end up ordering pizza instead of Thai but somehow their short conversation in front of her building broke the ice. She knows, it might only last for the rest of the evening. But as soon as they pass the threshold to her apartment, they're back to the old banter and friendship they used to have – before their life got put on hold by that shooting. For a while there she can actually pretend nothing ever happened. Because he's smiling and he seems to be happy to be there with her. That's really all she wants at that moment. To have him back in her life – full time.

And she's enjoying every second of it.

The evening goes on and for just a moment or two she can forget why they had ended up here in the first place. Because they had done this so many times before. So many times during the years they had spend an evening like this in either his or her apartment. Sitting in the living room on the couch, sharing their third bottle of wine while watching some tacky romance movie. They're laughing about how cliché the movie really is, laughing about how unrealistic it is to fall in love with a stranger at first sight.

That's when the stabbing inside her starts again and the laughter dies on her lips.

Careful, because she's not really sure how he will react, she leans her head on his shoulder. She's not even sure why she does it; she just needs to. While they've been sitting on the couch for quite a while now, they haven't really touched. So maybe it's just her needing to feel he's still sitting beside her. At first he's not reacting at all. He's not getting tense, not trying to get away from her; he's simply there. Like he has always been – before the shooting.

"Will you stay?" she suddenly whispers and her hand comes up to glide over his biceps. While the void inside her is nearly closed by one simple evening spend together with her best friend. There's still something missing, a yearning not yet fulfilled.

He doesn't answer right away. Actually, he's staying silent for so long she's starting to wonder if she just made another mistake. But then he lifts his arm from her grasp and instead pulls her shoulders closer to him.

"You go to bed, I'll stay on the couch," his soft voice finally answers.

Somehow it's not the answer she was expecting; or at least hoping for. But it's still enough. She hadn't expected for it to be enough but it actually is. And maybe it's all she should have been hoping for. So she nods and gets up to shower before she gets ready for bed. While looking through her drawer she finds some old sweatpants for him to wear. They remind her of all the time he had spent at the office lately.

He could do with a decent shower too… So she fetches some towels and puts everything in the bathroom. For a second she stops and looks at her reflection in the mirror. She's looking tired herself although she's confident she's a long way from what he looks like. Suddenly the knot in her stomach tightens a bit more.

Him staying on the couch is not nearly enough.

Tears are starting to threaten her again but she pushes them back vehemently. She missed him, in a way she still does. He's back with her again, back in her life, back in her apartment. But there's still this nagging doubt for how long he will stay. Can he really ignore what she did without looking at her differently?

Will he be able to look back at her at all?

Because she can still see how he tries to avoid her gaze from time to time. He's looking at her again, when they're talking – most of the time. But he's never looking at her when she's silent. And she misses that too. They used to be best without actually saying what was going on in their head. How are they supposed to get back there when he's still refusing to look her in the eyes?

She sighs and tries to push the thought away. It's all still very fresh. Maybe they both just need some more time; maybe they'll work something out later. Or this might be nothing but her imagination. She's not in denial about how much on the edge she still is.

This pondering isn't helping her at all. She goes back to her original plan and quickly showers. There's no doubt about how tired he must be by now. So she'd better hurry up a bit, giving him a chance to take a shower himself before he goes to bed.

Or the couch in this case.

No words are said, no looks exchanged when she's finished. He silently walks into the bathroom and closes the door. For a second she just stands there, looking at the door. Again she wonders if there's something lost indefinitely. But she doesn't allow herself to muse over that thought any longer. Instead she gets a pillow and a blanket and puts them both on the couch; waiting for him.

Maybe she could change his mind.

When he finally leaves the bathroom, he's wearing his undershirt and the sweatpants. For a second she's back at another time eight years ago, when he had looked just the same. He's still not really looking at her though. Instead he whispers a little thank you when he passes by her on his way to the couch. Her arms come up but instead of stopping him, she falls back to a pathetic little self hug. Something inside her is still hoping against all hope for her to find the right words. The words that would make him change his mind.

She probably doesn't deserve it though.

He's still not looking at her, not turning around when she doesn't follow him back to the living room. Instead he starts to make himself comfortable on her couch. It's not his place to stay. His place is somewhere else. Seems as if this thought won't ever leave her again. She doesn't want it to leave either. It's hurting and it will probably hurt for quite a while longer.

At least he didn't leave. He could have left a long time ago. She should be grateful that he hadn't. But instead the fear inside her grows again. Fear that this whole evening was nothing but a front. Yes, he's in her apartment; they had dinner; they watched a movie; they had fun. But in the end… this isn't right, not how it's supposed to be. Something between them is still missing and she doesn't know how to get it back.

But she knows she needs it back.

She needs him back; she needs to be close to him. Definitely closer than she is right now. Only, she can't force him into it. Because in the end she's the one who put that rift between them. Isn't she? If she hadn't… No, it's no use. What's done is done and she can't change that, no matter how much she might want to. She can't go back there anymore. So she has to look forward and hope that one day they'll be back to where they used to be.

A place where he can actually look her in the eyes again.

Still it seems as if today wouldn't be the day. So she goes back to her own bed; defeated in a way. She doesn't know anymore what she should do. All she knows is what she wants. And most of all she wants him to be with her, to be lying next to her. She wants to feel the heat of his body and the dip of the mattress whenever he changes position. Falling asleep knowing that tonight there won't be a dream about him being dead. Because whenever she wakes up from one of those, she simply has to stretch out her arm and he'll be there. He'll be lying right next to her – living, breathing. She wants to be able to hold him again and be held in return. But most of all she wants him to look at her the way he used to.

Selfish want; selfish needs.

She can't allow herself to think like this. So instead of turning around and calling him on it, she goes to bed and pulls the comforter as high as she can. Tonight this will be the only warmth that will engulf her. A silent tear glides down her cheek while she wonders again if they will ever get back to their old selves. She knows she hurt him and he's got every right to keep away from her. And while she understands all that she still longs for him; can't really stop herself from it.

At some point she must have fallen asleep despite her worry because the next thing she remembers is a scream tearing through her dream and forcefully bringing her back to reality. The sound is gone as soon as she's awake and while she listens into the darkness she's actually not sure anymore if it was part of her dream or if she really heard it. Lying on her back she listens to the few sounds of the night while her heart tries to find back to his usual rhythm. But there's no more screaming. Tiredness sneaks up on her and her eyes are already closing again when she suddenly hears glass shattering.

With haste she's out of her bed only to stop in front the door to her bedroom. Her first thought is that somebody's trying to break in. Carefully she sneaks out of her room. Only when she sees a slumped figure in her kitchen she remembers that she's not alone. How could she have forgotten? Had she really turned into such an inconsiderate person? He's standing next to the sink, his hand under the water tap.

That's when she sees the red water running down from his fingers into the sink.

"Shit, Mac. What have you done to yourself?!"

Surprised he looks up but turns his head away even quicker when he lays eyes on her. For a second she's miffed about his ongoing behavior of not looking at her, but then the worry overrides everything and she gets closer. There are shards on the floor from what probably was one of her glasses before. Needless to say that nobody would ever use that one again. What worries her more is that her best friend still has his hand under the cold water to wash away the blood.

Quickly she gets the first aid kit from the bathroom.

"Let me see that," she demands, gesturing to his still bleeding hand.

He carefully shows her his hand but still refuses to actually look at her. She'll have to address that sooner or later. For now she's more concerned about the bleeding from his palm though. Whatever happened, he got himself cut quite good. While she doesn't think he'll need stitches, this is going to heal slowly. It's his right hand and with all the restless movement he had shown recently the cut won't seal itself very quickly. Maybe she should take him to the hospital anyway. This might be worse than it looks.

"I'm sorry I woke you up."

She looks at him incredulously. He can't be serious about this! Why does he think he needs to apologize for anything? She's the one doing all the wrong stuff for even worse reasons. If anybody should apologize for something, it should be her. But when she looks at the forlorn look on his face the stabbing pain in her stomach is back full force. So instead of giving him the dress down he might deserve she opts for a more subtle way and pushes a compress on the wound before she points to the couch. He nods silently and does as he's told; carefully holding the compress to his wound while sitting down. The blood is already seeping through and again she's not sure if she should bring him to a hospital.

"It's not that deep," he murmurs as if he could hear her silent thoughts. And this time it's her doing the silent nod of agreement.

So she sits down on the coffee table in front of him, watching him for a moment before her hands move closer. He's slumped down on her couch, his head hanging down; his eyes still hidden from her. While she puts another compress on and bandages his hand, he's still looking away. Actually he's looking at his own hand, as if it could give him some answers to questions he can't voice yet. She's not sure if she wants to know the questions though. They might hold more pain than either of them can stomach today. So she doesn't really call him on that. But his behavior still strikes her as odd. They had spent a really nice evening before they went to bed.

Something went wrong between them sitting on the couch and her asking him to come to bed.

"What happened, Mac?"

"Dropped a glass."

Liar.

"You don't cut yourself like this from dropping a glass," she softly replies and tries to make eye contact again. She's even bending down to really look at his face. But by now he's looking everywhere but her. Something's wrong and she's more and more convinced that it has nothing to do with a broken glass.

Or with any of her decisions during the last month.

If this has anything to do with either of those she can't see it anymore. Because if he was pissed at her, he wouldn't be here; sitting on her couch. There's something else eating at him. This had to be about the scream she heard before. She hadn't imagined that. Something's haunting him and maybe that's the reason he's here and not at his own apartment. Because he still needs some comfort.

And she hadn't wanted to see it before.

Her heart speeding up just thinking about how often she must have hurt him today, she carefully ties the bandage around his hand. He's still not looking at her, but instead back at his hand. He doesn't allow for her fingers to linger just one second on his hand, but instead pulls it back to his lap as soon as she's finished.

"Mac?"

She's not sure why she suddenly insists on talking. Really, she should let it drop because this could very easily lead into territory she's not ready to go. She doesn't want to hurt him any further. The realization of how much damage she had probably done already is hard enough to stomach. There's no way she wants to dig any deeper into that wound. But the way he looks right now, he's already hurting too much – without any prospect of it getting better. She's not sure how long she can watch him go on like this. Something's eating at him. This can't be about her spending the night with someone or he wouldn't have stayed here. Right? But why else is he avoiding her eyes if this isn't about her and what she had done?

"I'm fine," he simply answers and lies back down on the couch, blanket quickly drawn up to his chin.

Another lie.

She can see he's not alright. So why does he insist on it? Why is he still not looking at her? He hadn't been like this through the whole day. He had looked at her during the last part of their investigation. And when they were in his office his eyes had locked with hers more than once. But there had also been more than one occasion today when he hadn't been able to look at her. Just like he's avoiding her now.

So why was he turning his back on her again? Literally.

Gently her hand glides over his back and she can suddenly feel a tremble going through his body. With a vice like grip, something starts squeezing at her heart. He isn't fine. He is far away from 'fine' as anyone could be! She hadn't seen him trembling like this since Claire died.

"Mac? Look at me!"

But instead of doing as he was told, he curls up into an even tighter ball; the sight squashing her heart even more. It's actually starting to frighten her – a lot. This is not like him. He might have had his dark moments, but he had never withdrawn from her like that.

She had done this to him.

"Mac, you're scaring me here."

Again there isn't an immediate response, increasing her worry even more. What the hell should she do? She wants to help him; she wants to make this right somehow. But she doesn't know what exactly it is that's eating at him. And she doesn't want to speculate, fearing she might say something to hurt him even more.

"I can't," he finally whispers, his back still turned to her, face half hidden against the back of the couch.

"Why?"

What is it exactly he can't do?

"I don't want to see it anymore." A quiet wail; his voice so broken, almost totally shattering her heart.

What has she done?!

Tears spring to her eyes again. She's responsible for this; she's the one who hurt him. It's her fault, it's all her fault! If she hadn't been so selfish, they wouldn't be here like this. They would be lying in her bed – or his – and they would sleep comfortably, peacefully. Instead she betrayed their friendship and now he's on her couch, trembling with emotions.

And she doesn't know what to do anymore.

"I'm sorry, Mac. I…"

"No!" he suddenly screams and jumps up from the couch.

For a moment, she's too stunned to actually do anything but watch him run from her. Stumbling he tries to put some distance between them. But his foot gets caught in the blanket and he trips instead; landing face down on the floor with a resounding bump. He's shaking but not really moving away any further.

So she walks the two steps over to him; careful because she's not sure if he'll run away again. But he's still not moving. And when she tries to help him getting up he's a dead weight in her arms. Instead of turning way, he actually slumps back against her, his right hand clutching at her top. She can see his eyes are closed now; his face contorted in pain.

Somehow she doubts it's from the fall…

At least he's not trying to get away from her anymore. He burrows his head in her lap, clinging to her in a way that's frightening her even more. It's so unlike him that it's scaring the shit out of her. Just imagining she might be the one who pushed him that far is nearly too much for her to stomach.

"Make it stop, please. I want it to stop," he whispers.

A lonely tear starts its long way down over his cheek. Carefully she brushes it away with one hand, while she holds on to his shoulder with the other one. By now she's terrified by his behavior. She has seen him this devastated only once. There must be something else because she simply doesn't want to believe she could really be the one to hurt him that much.

"I want to help you, Mac. I do. But I…"

He shakes his head but doesn't answer. His arms sneak around her until he's effectively hugging her waist; his head resting in her lap while he's lying between her outstretched legs. She leans back against the couch in her back and waits for him to say something; anything. Because she doesn't know what to do anymore. She's torn between her guilt and a tiny spark of hope telling her she can't possibly be responsible for inflicting that much pain on him. Could she?

"I'm so sorry, Stella," he finally answers. "I'm so sorry I wasn't there for you."

Gently her fingers glide through his ruffled hair. "I guess that goes both ways," she finally replies in a broken voice. If she hadn't been too busy worrying about her own needs maybe they wouldn't be here now.

At least not like this.

His breathing is getting slower and she can feel the tension slowly leaving him while they stay like this. It's not much but in a way, it puts her a little bit more at ease. She still has no idea what might have spooked him like this, but there's hope they will get through it somehow. He's not asleep yet but she supposes he's not far from it. Carefully as to not disturb him, she reaches behind herself and pulls the blanket over him.

"You've asked me a question… In my office."

She nods but doesn't say anything. He's taking a deep breath, his arms tightening around her. Instantly her heartbeat speeds up. She's not sure if she can stomach whatever was bound to come, but it's time to put any last bit of selfishness away and finally do the right thing. Namely to be there for him, as she has always been before.

"In that bar, when you said your toast… I couldn't tear my eyes from you."

The last words are so quiet she can barely understand them. But when the words seep through her consciousness her heart speeds up even more and her grip on him tightens just a little bit. It's breaking everything inside her to see him like this but she knows there's nothing she can say to make it easier for him. So she resumes to gently brush over his hair, hoping it will give him at least some kind of solace.

"Did you know the bartender stood right behind you?"

Her hand stops. She didn't know; she never looked at the reconstruction because she couldn't deal with the memory of Danny lying in a pool of his own blood; because she had tried too hard to push every memory from that night as far away from her as possible. Or at least as far away as her job would allow her. And he had never forced her to be any part of the reconstruction either. He had forced none of them into it. In fact, he had done most of it on its own or with some of the lab techs.

"I couldn't really see him," he continues, his voice breaking again. "Because I was only watching you."

Her insides are starting to turn inside out now, her mind slowly painting a picture she doesn't want to see. While she wants to tell him everything would be okay, she knows it's not because if everything would be okay he wouldn't be lying in her lap like this. He would be either at his own home or at least in her bed sleeping peacefully. She tries to bring that image to her mind because she really doesn't want to see the one that's slowly forming in front of her eyes.

"Every time I look at you… I see this bullet splattering brain matter over the counter." And with a start it's there, the picture she doesn't want to see; the one that's been eating at him for over a month now. "I'm never sure if it's yours."

She closes her eyes and tries to stop the tears already flowing freely over her cheeks. Her arms tighten around him again, holding him to her. There are no words that could describe the pain she's feeling inside; the pain he must have felt all this time. This is frighteningly close to her own nightmares, where she was never sure if he's still alive because he wouldn't look at her; because he avoided her as much as possible. They're two sides of a coin, choosing different ways to try to overcome their fears. But right now it seems neither of them had worked.

It was time for them to get back to what they did best.

Ignoring her own tears, she pulls him as close to herself as she can. He's still trembling slightly, but it's not as bad as before anymore. Maybe this whole talking thing might actually turn out in their favor for once. There would still be a lot of healing to do over this. But when he finally stills in her arms and his grip on her loosens ever so slightly there's new hope growing inside her.

"I'm still here, Mac," she sighs. "And I'm not leaving."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is still about episode 6.01 Epilogue, but it's set after what was shown on the TV-show. There are no lines from the original episode. Actually, this might be the only chapter so far that's barely using anything from the original episode.
> 
> There was never a reason given why Stella did what she did and there wasn't hinted at anything that would explain Macs behavior. So the reason I put out there for him to ignore her like that is not fully supported by the show. They barely showed anything from the shooting in either episode. But Stella did stand next to the counter and I'm quite sure you can see somebody going down behind her. So I think it's kind of within the cannon boundaries ;)


	18. White Noise

Something was buzzing in his ears, making everything suddenly hard to understand. Were those words? Was somebody talking to him? He wasn't sure because all he could hear was this wheezing noise; the same noise that seemed to stay with him for longer and longer periods of time. The problems were already piling up around him. No need to add another one! He could feel his heartbeat rising along with the volume of the noise. His breathing was getting irregular, his chest heaving more and more while he unsuccessfully tried to block out the noise.

"You alright?"

Finally something broke through the buzzing and blinking he looked around until his gaze fell upon his quite worried looking partner. She looked back at him, obviously puzzled about his odd behavior. That was when it dawned on him that he was still standing in the middle of the hospital hallway. To not worry her any further he pushed himself from the cart he had been leaning on; all the while trying not to fall flat on his face.

"Yeah… yeah, everything's alright."

Avoiding the unspoken question in her eyes, he turned away and took a deep breath. Just a long day, a long shift, nothing unusual there. He was tired; nothing more, nothing less. This freak trying to open up old wounds had not really help matters either. Risking a glance back at her he could see the frown already starting to appear on her forehead. Getting worried.

Again.

"I'm heading back to the lab to finish the paperwork."

There was something unspoken between them. And he knew it was him who wasn't saying it. Although he wasn't really sure, what it was that he wasn't saying. Something inside him wanted to ask her if she would care for dinner at Forlini's. But in the back of his head he could not only feel the buzzing starting again, there were also the first signs of a full blown headache. And he didn't really want to put her through an evening with his grumpy self. On the other hand, he couldn't tell her to head home alone either.

Because he knew he didn't want her to leave him alone today.

It hadn't exactly been the worst day of his life. God knows he had handled way worse times before. But it hadn't really been good day either. Being a CSI, the discovery of a murder victim wasn't always leading up to a bad day. A call bringing up old memories was something else entirely though.

"You should go home and take the rest of the day off, Mac," she interrupted his thoughts. "I… I can finish most of that paperwork and you can sign off the rest tomorrow."

For a moment he simply stared at her. He could see that her offer was valid and he wanted nothing more than to tell her the truth about what he really wanted; what he needed. But that truth remained unspoken; because neither of them was ready to acknowledge it yet.

Twenty-eight days and seventeen hours gone by… and they were still not over it.

"It's okay. I've got it covered."

He heard himself say the words but somehow they didn't feel right. His stomach tightened on what was still unspoken. Something inside him wanted her to call him on it, to tell him to stop pretending and just let her take care of him since he could really do with a good night's sleep and he knew that was exactly what he would get, if he just gave in to it; gave in to her. But he didn't; he couldn't.

And she didn't call him on it either.

The smile he tried to send her way died on his lips. He lied to her, he couldn't bring himself to coat that lie with something as tender as a smile. But maybe he was just tired of not only lying to her but to himself as well. They had tried to talk about this before and somewhere along the lines, they had found a place in time where they could accept what had happened to them; what used to be between them and had been missing for a while. But although another month had nearly gone by since then, they still hadn't found back to the easy camaraderie they used to share before this whole disaster broke them apart.

Walking away slowly he tried to erase the thought from his mind. But once it had breached his consciousness, he couldn't get rid of it that easily. Nearly two months since the original shooting and he had still trouble coping with it. The two shooters were dead already and the only remaining conspirator got locked up in Riker's, awaiting his murder sentence. There was nothing left of this case, no open questions, no further need for investigation since Jake had plead guilty. And still he couldn't let it go.

Because the memories wouldn't fade away anytime soon.

Starting the engine of his car, he put it in drive and left heading towards the office. He didn't feel like finishing paperwork, but it was a good excuse to get out of that hospital. To hell with Benton and his need to see other people miserable! He had enough demons to deal with as it was. So, he shouldn't let this guy put another one on him. But while he tried to suppress whatever Benton might have awoken, the buzzing started anew.

He wasn't sure how he ever made it to the office without killing somebody. When he finally arrived he was drenched in sweat and he could barely remember anything from the drive. Shit, if he would have had an accident driving like this, he'd never survive his partner's wrath. She'd grill him for injuring himself after dismissing her at the hospital.

Scratch that, she'd grill him regardless of what he had said to her before.

Involuntarily his grip on the steering wheel tightened. The noise was still vibrating in his ears. Somehow he had to get rid of that damn sound! He could see Danny and Lindsay walking past his car, smiling and waving at him. Lindsay said something but whatever it was, he couldn't hear her. Still he smiled back and nodded. Whatever she had said, his little nod seemed to be enough answer for her because the couple turned away and continued their way back home.

Lightning flashed before his eyes and suddenly he was back at his parent's house. He could hear his mother crying softly behind him, trying against all hope to keep herself together. Too stunned to move or even say something he stared at the pale figure in front of him. He could feel his heart speeding up, hammering hard against his ribcage. His breath was getting more irregular, while his brain still tried to comprehend the image in front of him. This wasn't happening; it couldn't be happening.

Not again!

"Mac?"

No, he didn't want to be back there. He had remembered enough about this part of his life already. And he knew it won't be a pleasant memory once it got to the final act. But the buzzing was rising in volume again and he could barely hear the voice trying to talk to him. He knew what had triggered those memories. Shouldn't that be enough to stop them from flowing freely out of the dark place he had locked them in once before?

"Mac!"

The figure in the bed moved slowly, turning his head over towards him. Those once familiar blue eyes seemed dull and lifeless to him now and his stomach tightened even more. Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder, pulling him backwards not only in space but time as well. Confused he blinked and tried to focus on the view before his eyes. The frail man had vanished, as had the bed and in fact the whole house he had seen only seconds earlier.

Replaced by the gray walls of an underground parking lot.

"Screw you, Benton…," his breath rushed out of him in a whisper before he could stop himself.

"Mac?"

The voice was still there, as was the hand on his shoulder. Frowning he tried to concentrate on either of them; but his thought seemed too sluggish to move from memory to reality in one fluid motion.

"Are you alright?"

Sure he was. This was just… just a memory, brought up by some stupid lunatic. It didn't have any hold on him anymore. So many years had gone by; he had learned to live with it. No way would he crumble on it. His father had died more than fifteen years ago.

And they both had found their peace in that.

Finally, he managed to snap out of whatever had held him captive. His breath still labored and the way his heart was hammering in his chest somehow didn't feel right. But the vision before his eyes slowly got clearer. Or maybe the remnants of whatever had taken hold of him before were finally fading away because while he wasn't sure what was going on, he was fairly certain he'd never dreamed up the CSU parking lot before.

"Move!"

That voice sounded pissed. Familiar and concerned, but mostly it sounded royally pissed. When he didn't comply with the order, the hand on his shoulder got more insistent, too. Another hand joined in and before he knew what happened, the seatbelt was unfastened and he got pulled from his seat.

Taking one step outside his legs buckled below him and he nearly went down. But instead of further pulling at him the hands kept him upright. In fact, instead of pulling they were now pushing; pushing him up against the side of the car so he wouldn't fall flat on his face. Slowly his heart rate got closer to a healthier rhythm; the warmth of two hands seeping through his clothing, helping even more to keep his heart rate steady. Only his breathing was still somewhat faltering.

"'m a'righ…," he finally mumbled and mentally added a tongue made of lead to his failing body's symptoms.

"Yeah, sure you are! Move your ass. I'll take you to the hospital." Her raised voice cut through the noise that was still trying to engulf him.

This finally brought him back from wherever his wandering mind had taken him. With staggering steps but at least a bit more stable, he pulled away from the door and those supporting hands. He didn't need any more hospitals. In fact, he had just left one –and didn't plan on going back there anytime soon.

"I'm fine," he repeated, this time with more force and less slurring.

That said he tried to fully extract himself from those hands, but they were quite insistent. Instantly he found himself pushed against the door of his car. The impact didn't do anything to quench the buzzing in his ears. If anything, it rose in volume again. Fear started to engulf him. He could feel the numbness seeping through his bones. His whole body quivered again, knowing all too well what would happen next. The flash would return with more memories. How long until it would find the ones that would break him apart?

This had to stop. Somehow he had to stop this before it went too far.

Arms swiftly came up, hugging him tightly. He could feel a soft body pressing against his back, hands gliding over his chest and a head coming to rest against his shoulders. This felt too good and excessively familiar. Tears started to well up in his eyes. It was exactly what he needed; what he wanted.

Slowly he closed his eyes. His rapid heartbeat was slowing down even more. Even his breathing was getting better. A calmness he had missed for roughly… twenty-eight days and eighteen hours spread through his body, dispersing the numbness. Serenity, peace of mind. He couldn't fight them anymore.

He couldn't fight her any longer.

"I don't need a doctor, Stella," he finally whispered.

"You're frightening me, Mac…" The constant buzzing muffled her voice but this time he could actually understand what she was saying.

Sorry; he was so sorry – for everything he might ever have done to her –, but he couldn't say it any more. He had whispered it for a whole night those almost twenty-nine days ago. It hadn't worked then; it wouldn't work now. He felt so empty, so lost. Nothing seemed to matter anymore. Well nothing but the fact that he was still hurting her.

That's something he had never intended to do.

"I don't know what to do anymore," he finally admitted and felt the arms around him tighten.

He had thought he could deal with the remnants from that hellhole alone. But he couldn't. He was only digging himself in even deeper – like fighting quicksand. The harder he tried to put it all behind himself, the less it worked. Every night he went to bed and closed his eyes just to open them five minutes later – right when the images started to sneak out from their hiding place. He couldn't bear the nightmares anymore.

The last time he had a decent night's sleep had been the night after they arrested Jake Calaveras.

Without actually giving him any reply her arms finally loosen. With a pang of remorse he wished them back right away. The second he had to stand on his own the numbness started to seep into his bones again. But before he could actually say something, tender hands carefully guided him on the backseat of the car. The same hands try to fasten the seatbelt around him, but he felt too drained to help and the seatbelt wouldn't fit around him, curled up into as tight a ball as he could.

Maybe this way the tactile memory of her arms around him would stay with him longer.

He closed his eyes and tried to will the numbness away, but it was already seeping through his bones again; replacing calmness with fear and horror. He knew too well that once it fully engulfed him, he wouldn't be able to fight sleep anymore. And the nightmare would start. He would have to live through that night again; with him too tired to fight it any longer.

Next thing he knew the hands pulled at him once more, this time urging him to get out of the car. In, out; awake, asleep; someone should make up their mind. The feeling of being lost returned and the buzzing was back to full volume, blocking out any sound. In wonder he looked around, watching cars passing by; without so much as a beep for an engine sound. Pity; the Z4 over there probably had a really nice sound…

She was talking to him again, he could feel it, but the words wouldn't penetrate through the fog in his head. Tired, he was so tired… But he couldn't go to sleep, not while the nightmare was waiting to sneak up on him again. Maybe he could ask her to stay, to keep him company. But what if she didn't want that anymore? She had found her solace elsewhere once before.

What if she got involved with that guy?

He couldn't expect her to stay with him while she had a boyfriend at home, waiting for her. It had been inappropriate before, but with her back in a real relationship, there was simply no way he could allow himself to be that needy. How could he ever begrudge her this kind of happiness? For years he had gone with her, run to her whenever he had needed a hug. He can't put her through this anymore.

Not while she found a life for herself with another man.

But when he didn't give her any reply, her hands got insistent again; she got insistent again. Because moments later he found himself in front of his apartment door; watching her fumbling with his keys to open the door. How he got the four floors up was beyond him, but somehow he must have managed to stagger into the elevator. The logic part of his brain tried to reason with him that if he was coherent enough to get up here, he should be able to send her home to her boyfriend.

He's a marine; he's not afraid of nightmares.

Another lightning flashed before his eyes and when he saw the first glimpse of where this journey along memory lane would take him, all he could do was to push through the half opened door and stagger to the kitchen sink. The dry heaves tightened his stomach even more. But he's actually more thankful he didn't have anything to eat that day; because he didn't really care to clean up the mess and he definitely didn't want her to do that for him.

Gladly the flash went with the heaving. The tiredness threatened to overwhelm him again, but by now he wasn't fit to fight it any longer. If he just gave in to it and got it over with… Maybe he wouldn't feel that empty anymore if he went through with it. Slowly he turned around and slid to the floor besides the counter. The hands returned again, but instead of insistent, they were tender now, carefully gliding over his shoulder and arm. One of them sneaked up to his forehead. It felt cool against his skin, soothing not only his body but also his mind.

And the buzzing dropped in volume.

"Come on up, Mac."

Her voice still sounded as if she was talking from far away but at least she didn't sound pissed anymore; worried… maybe. If it hadn't been for her hands pulling him up and her slim body trying to keep him there, he wouldn't be sure if she really was in his apartment. But the heat of the body beside him was assurance enough. She was still with him; she hadn't left him to his own. Just like she used to be; just as they used to be. Maybe he could ask her anyway. She was still his best friend, wasn't she? Could he really hope for her to stay?

When his bedroom came in sight he wasn't so sure anymore. Oh, he was quite sure she would help him any way she could, he never really doubted that. But asking her to spend the night felt strange, knowing she might be in some kind of relationship he never dared thinking about; not with her.

Somehow he ended up in the bed anyway. Large parts of his clothing suddenly went AWOL – until only his boxer shorts and undershirt remained. Shivering slightly he tried to block out the suddenly missing protection against the cold of his apartment. Temperatures during the nights were already dropping and the rain during the last days hadn't helped to keep them up. To keep the little remaining heat, he pulled the comforter out from under himself and tried to curl up in a ball again. Turing his back on her he tried to suppress the shivers. The least he could do was trying to fake normalcy so she could leave without feeling guilty.

Not much longer until the nightmare would come back.

But instead of hearing the sound from the front door closing, he felt the mattress dip. She didn't touch him though. Well, she shouldn't be here anyway; he shouldn't want her to be here so much either. Still, the thought of her simply lying next to him was comforting in its own way. Maybe it would even be enough to keep the nightmare away. And if it didn't it might at least make it more bearable. He had always gotten a good night's rest with her.

And with that thought, the buzzing faded a bit more.

Suddenly he could feel a hand gliding under the cover and over his back. He couldn't stop the tremble running through his body, spreading from where her hand touched him. Deep inside him the thought of sending her home surfaced again, but this time he shoved it back as soon as he recognized it. He wanted her to be here. Even more, he wanted to be selfish enough to ask her for it.

"Still having nightmares…" Again, her voice managed to cut through the buzzing in his ears and the fog trying to cloud his mind.

He turned on his back and finally looked at her. There was no flash of lightning, no thunder rolling and increasing the noise that had threatened to overcome him during the whole evening. Instead, there was nothing but her. Her green eyes bored into him and even in the pale moonlight he could still see the worry edged into her delicate features. She shouldn't look that worried; he shouldn't bring up that look on her. But he didn't know what to do anymore. While the need for her to stay grew bigger and bigger by the second, the voice inside him still insisted on sending her away.

Home, to whoever had helped her to get over this.

Only he couldn't deny the facts any longer. He knew he needed sleep more than anything. However, he wasn't sure if he could really still ask her for this kind of help. Her arm came up again, resting comfortable across his chest. He could feel its weight with every breath he took. But instead of putting pressure on him, it was reassuring, calming him down further. And suddenly all thought of fighting against it was gone.

She was here, she was with him, in his bed and she didn't look one bit as if she would leave the second he fell asleep. They had lived through this exact moment before and something told him this wouldn't end differently. So he lifted his own hand and grabbed the one still lying on his chest. His eyes bored into hers, pleading for her to hear the words he still couldn't voice.

And like to so many times before, she heard him because in one swift moment, she pulled him towards her again.

He closed his eyes and hugged her back, trying to fight the tears that were slowly welling up in his eyes. Calmness spread through his body again, fighting against darkness and numbness alike. He was finally able to feel something beside the emptiness inside. His arms tightened around her while he buried his face against her neck. Tiredness pressed down on him and he was ultimately unable to fight it any longer.

Slowly his mind blanked out and finally the buzzing stopped.

"Are you sure?"

When he wakes up hours later it must be way into the day because it's daylight outside. The rainy clouds from the last days are gone and in fact, there's sunlight filtering through the partially closed curtains. He feels surprisingly good. No nightmares, not a single one during the whole night. In a way, he should have known it would feel like this. After all he had longed to get back to the exact point where he was now. But he also knows there might be a price to pay for that later on. While he might have been wary to pay it before, he's ready to pay any price to keep that feeling inside himself now.

"I don't know, Sid… You didn't see him last night. He could barely hold himself up."

Confused he turns around. Although he can't see her, he knows she can't be far away. Her voice is muffled and she tries to keep it low. So she must be right outside his bedroom. For a second he contemplates calling out to her, but he feels too content to move any further. Well that and the fact she seemed to be worried about him already.

"I've seen him tired before; exhausted even. But this is different. Something's wrong."

Maybe he should still call out to her, to let her know he's awake.

"Burn out? Sid, this is Mac Taylor, we're talking about. He thrives on work and no sleep! … No… No, I already tried to get him to see a doctor last night."

That's ridiculous, he's okay! All he needs is a bit more time. She really shouldn't worry about him that much. He should put her mind at rest and tell her he's alright; even though he knows it's not totally true. There's still something missing inside. But he doesn't know anymore how to get it back. Because the only way he can think of is this one; the one he can't walk anymore.

If she's in a relationship, he can't ask her to stay with him.

"Okay. Okay, I promise… Yes… Yes, Sid, I promise if he gets worse I'll personally drag him to a hospital."

Hospital? He doesn't need a doctor!

"No, I'll call Sheldon later, to let him know we'll both be off for the rest of the day."

He's fine! He doesn't need a day off; he just needed a good night's sleep. And now that he got that, he can go back to work. She doesn't have to worry about him so much. Least of all she has to call Hawks or anyone at the lab to tell them their boss finally snapped!

"Sid? Don't tell anyone."

Before he can think of anything he wanted to say the door to his bedroom opened. There she was, looking tired herself. Tired and worried actually. He should say something to put her mind at peace, to make her stop worrying. But the only thing that comes to his mind is his usual 'I'm fine' and he knows it would be bad timing for that. She would see through his lie in a second.

"What's the verdict?" he asks, turning is head so he wouldn't have to look at her.

He doesn't really care to see the disappointed that's bound to be on her face. She doesn't reply right away. Instead, he feels the mattress dip when she sits down besides him. Seems as if that's starting to become a theme with them. Tender fingers glide down over his bare arm, sending little sparks in the opposite direction. He closes his eyes and tries to block out what feelings the simply touch might invoke in him. There's no way he can go down that road one more time. It's too late for that and it was time for him to accept it. So he waits for her to answer his question one way or another.

"Please look at me," she finally gives in to his waiting game.

But he can't comply that easily because he simply doesn't want to see that look on her anymore.

"Mac?"

No.

"Let me help you. Please!"

He can't; he can't keep her away from a more happy life.

"You should go," he finally whispers back, still not looking back at her.

Her grip on his arm tightens for a second. She doesn't leave, though. So far she's still there. A little voice inside him dares to proclaim hope, but he pushes it down. There's nothing to hope for. They're friends and they will always be friends. He knows it's the truth but he also knows that friends are not supposed to be as close as he needs her. Least of all they should be as close as he really wants them to be. So what they have is more than he would ever have dared to hope for eight years ago; and still not enough. But he knows that all of this has to change if she wants any chance at keeping a relationship with that guy she found during the time he couldn't be there for her.

"I promised you I wouldn't leave. Didn't I?"

He actually quietly laughs at that before he answers: "You don't have to… You should go back to…"

But he can't finish the sentence; he can't say it because just thinking about it makes his stomach tightens up again. He knows he shouldn't feel like that. And maybe he really is sick because two months ago he wouldn't have imagined ever feeling this bad; at least not if it was about her.

She lets go of his arm and he instantly feels lonely. How can he feel this lonely when she's still there? All of a sudden, the mattress dips another time. His stomach seizes just thinking about where she might go now. Does the guy know how lucky he is to have found her? Or did she find him? Hopefully this time she'll be able to finally find the happiness she deserves. She had to go through so much hurt, it was time for her to find someone who can appreciate her.

Before he can think about it any longer, a head comes to rest on the left side of chest. And considering they're supposed to be the only ones here, there's not much guessing about whose head that might be. Her left hand glides from his stomach upwards, caressing the right side of his chest before it finally settles on his right biceps. She grips at it shortly before returning to a tenderer caress over his bare flesh. If he could stay like this forever, it wouldn't be long enough.

"I'm exactly where I want to be, Mac."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is about Episode 6.02 "Blacklist featuring Gravedigger". It was supposed to be nothing but a little something to get them back on track after chapter 10. But it got a bit more importance than I first intended it to have. There are no real lines from the episode and the storyline is barely used for this chapter. It's more or less all made up.


	19. Excuses

Thinking back, this case had started so very innocent that she's not sure how it could ever have ended the way it had. Okay, so maybe a dead body wasn't always all that 'innocent'. But this one had started as a suspected suicide and there's no malice in those – not for most of them anyway. Actually, she had always felt as if they were somewhat sad. Feeling desperate enough to jump of a bridge… that meant something. Fear, sadness, loneliness. While she knows all those from personal experience, it's hard to understand how someone might get to a point where all of that got too much to bear.

Did he ever feel like that?

Had he ever been desperate enough to end it all? She's not sure if she wants to know the answer to that. What if he had been? Should she be scared because if he had been there once before, he might get to that point again? Or should she be glad and thankful that even if he had ever felt the pull of the overwhelming darkness, he never actually acted on it? Did she have any part in holding him back? A part of her was hoping for it, another part got frightened again just thinking about how close he might have been to the abyss.

There's no denying that she had seen in him in really bad conditions, probably through some of his most desperate moments.

Actually, the last time hadn't been that long ago. Maybe he hadn't really been desperate at the time but in a way, it had been another low he had hit. And it had scared the shit out of her. Barely eight weeks had passed since then and there was still something left of the fear it had invoked in her. There had been several cases over the last two or three years that had went from close to personal. But this one had been different in its own way.

This time it hadn't been about him, it had been about his father.

They're both still recuperating from it, at least that's how she's feeling. And whenever she looks at him, she can't stop from feeling this urge inside, the urge to be close to him, to help him in any way she could. She knows that there had been a multitude of things piling up inside him at the time; stuff that had nothing to do with Benton or his insane need to punish everyone else for the cards fate had dealt him. There's no way he would have fallen so deep just because of this case. He had worked through much more pain before. And he had always been strong; had been her pillar of strength, whenever she needed one. Even when he had hit rock bottom, to her he had always been strong through all of it. But maybe it was just a matter of time until something fractured.

So when she had seen him first at the hospital, leaning heavily on one of the carts and later back at the CSU parking lot halfway into catatonia, it had terrified her. He wasn't one to crumble before the likes of Benton or this case. But combined with what she had assumed were continuing nightmares about the bar shooting two months earlier, nightmares she could understand all too well now… it had finally been his downfall.

The seemingly invincible Mac Taylor had broken down.

His mask had slipped, something that had happened only once before – at least as long as she had known him. And like the first time, she'd been there to catch him, trying to soften the impact of the fall as good as she could. It had taken all of the last eight weeks to convince herself she had been successful. But it had been a close call, of that she was certain. Oh, she was equally sure he wouldn't have jumped off the next bridge like their latest victim here had done. No, that wouldn't be his style.

Working longer than everyone else; pretending to be alright when in reality he was plagued by constant headaches; not sleeping no matter how exhausted he was; barely eating and dismissing every advances to change that. Those were his choices of destruction. And they could be just as deadly as a bullet or the water surface after a 135 feet jump from Queensboro Bridge.

Maybe it had always been nothing but a matter of time.

You probably can't go on forever like this without having to suffer the consequences at one point or another. There's only so much you can endure before you burn out – literally. Thinking back at the last eight weeks he had probably been more accepting of it than she had been. For the first days it had been hard to understand that a man who seemed so strong all the time could actually break down like everyone else. But in the end it only made him more human – he wasn't invincible.

Something she had to accept as well as he had.

The first night she had stayed with him because she had been afraid this was more serious than it had looked. After that, she had taken them both off the duty roaster for the next three days to come. He had needed more than rest but she knew, he wouldn't go to any doctor, so keeping him away from any more stress was all she could do at the time. The second night she had stayed with him because he hadn't left his bed for a whole day, consequently fueling her worry. She had even contemplated calling Sid again and asking him to check on her partner.

Her greatest worry had been that he would slip away further from her; to a place where she couldn't reach him anymore. Although he was eating, when she brought him some soup and resting more than he probably had over the weeks and months before, this apathy wasn't like him. He hadn't wanted to talk about any of it. Every time she tried to bring up the topic, he told her, he just needed some rest and then he would be fine again.

That third day she had to go to her own apartment to get some clothing. When she had come back, he had showered and shaved. He even left his bedroom; only to sit on the couch instead, staring at the black TV screen. Her heart had broken when she saw him this defeated.

Had Benton done, what no-one else had accomplished before?

Since she had brought him back to his home, he had shut down every attempt at a real conversation. The longer she had waited for him to say something or return to his usual self, the bigger had gotten her worry. She had sat down beside him, waiting for him to make the first move. If he had wanted her to leave, he would have had to tell her. Because this time she wouldn't back down on her own.

It had ended to be a very boring evening…

She had almost been ready to give up after all and go to sleep in the spare bedroom, when he had suddenly turned to her – just looking, still not saying anything. In a way, she had expected to see some kind of sadness in his eyes or pain or… anything to explain this behavior. But there had been none of them. In fact, she couldn't say what it had been she saw in his eyes.

They had been dark; darker than ever before. His usually bright blue eyes glistering in a shade of green and grey, pupils dilated, leaving even less of the iris visible to read inside. Still he hadn't talked, just kept staring at her. She hadn't been sure if he was searching for the right words or hadn't intended to say anything at all. So she waited and waited… and hoped for him to show her what he needed from her in order to help him.

"Stay? Please…," he had finally whispered.

Not thinking about what she should do or could do anymore, she had nodded and smiled before they went back to bed once more. He had curled up on his side, watching her slide into bed herself. Contrary to other nights they had shared the same bed, he had stayed on his side, watching her but not touching. For several minutes, she had found that a bit unnerving, not knowing what he had expected her to do; what he needed her to do.

In the end, she had simply fallen asleep, all the while feeling his eyes on her.

The next morning everything suddenly seemed to have changed. She had woken up late in the day only to find herself alone in his bed. Instantly she had been worried again. She had grabbed her clothes and hurried out of the room only to find him in the kitchen, preparing breakfast. For a moment, she couldn't do anything but stare at him in wonder. If it hadn't been for the two nights before that, she wouldn't have been able to tell that there had ever been something wrong with him.

He had simply smiled at her, saying that the coffee was ready and waiting.

She had tried to talk to him about what had invoked this u-turn in his behavior. But every time he just smiled at her and told her, he was alright; the same line he had fed her for the last couple of years. How could she believe him now? He hadn't been fine before. She wanted to believe him, wanted for him to be okay and whole again. The doubt didn't leave her though.

Until they found a victim at Ellis Island.

Thinking of it, their Ellis Island victim had seemed to be another suicide, just like this one here at Queensbory bride. She can remember how worried she had still been then. But he did seem to be okay. Maybe it was the unknown of that strange compass killer case; maybe it was the thrill of another mystery. Whatever it was, he had stormed right back into work.

Only this time he had stopped to take a breath away from work. He had been taking care of himself. In fact, he had gone home before her that day, had a good night's sleep and turned up with coffee and bagels at the office twenty minutes later than she did. Looking back at the six weeks since then he didn't work as much as before, ate more regularly. Several times it had been him reminding her that her shift had ended already, inviting her for dinner at the same time.

It's hard to tell if it was his breakdown or something else that made him change. Whatever it was, the change in him seemed to have brought up a transformation in her as well. Leaving the speedboat and getting to her crime scene, she wondered again what exactly that change had been. She knew she was feeling… different – better, more comfortable. Most of all she was getting more relaxed around him again.

They weren't back to where they used to be, though.

No, somehow this time it was different. In a way, him hitting this low had brought them to a place, where they could both feel comfortable again. Maybe even more than that. This wasn't just…comfortable. It was more… at least to her. This was a place that promised something more, another journey that could start from where they were currently lingering.

If they both wanted to anyway.

Just thinking about it, made her body tingle again. The thought of where this journey might lead them was frightening and blissful all the same. She knew a part of her wanted to travel along that path, wanted it so badly that it hurt sometimes. On the other hand, she wasn't sure if he wanted the same. Sometimes she hoped he did, but that was all that was to it – hope. The last six weeks had her hoping for so much more. Still, as of yet there had been nothing between them that hadn't been there before. They were back to their usual routine, but while there were days she allowed herself to imagine the 'what if's', they hadn't started this next journey yet.

Looking around the boat to take in her latest crime scene, she sighed. Ship... It's called a ship if it's that big, yacht probably if you insisted on being specific – that's what the speedboat driver had told her. Instantly she wondered if the guy lying on the floor of the 'ship' would have cared what the thing he had crashed into was called. Because no matter what it was, this guy was still dead – as was the guy who got shot by the way.

Did this count as murder-suicide?

Her thoughts were shortly distracted when her partner finally made it onto the ship himself. Walking from the speedboat that brought him there, he didn't look that well. Just a little green around the nose, though – nothing to worry. She hadn't been able to suppress a little grin when he walked to her a bit unsteady. For a guy getting three Navy Sea Service Deployment ribbons during his time with the Marines he sure had quite wobbly sea legs. But then maybe he only had problems with boats, not… ships.

"What are we looking at, Stella?"

Back to business. She needed a second to push back all thoughts about what could have been if she just shoved all carefulness away and asked him outright about it. Giving herself another second before she had to answer, she rose from her knees and smiled at him, nodding at their victim instead; the one that had started his journey from the bridge.

"Murder-suicide with a twist," she finally told him when her thoughts were back to where they belonged.

Pointing in the direction of the other, not so suicide-like victim she continued: "Only our shooter wasn't the one who committed suicide."

She looked back at her partner, noticing how he didn't check over either body. Less than a second later, she could see the frown starting to develop on his forehead, taking in the rest of the scene. Of course he had noticed right away that something was amiss; well, someone. She hadn't said anything so far – having been informed by O'Reilly that he would take this one for their absent friend. To be honest, she had hoped her partner would overlook it for the time being. Even if his mood over the last two weeks would have been better…there was no way he would let neglect of duty slip. She probably should have known he wouldn't let something like this go unnoticed.

Not after eating himself up over not seeing Sheldon's problems.

"Why is O'Reilly doing the interview?"

Because nobody had been able to find their missing friend so far? But she didn't say it; no need to dig her friend's grave even deeper.

"Thought Flack was on today."

He couldn't ignore it and although she didn't like the consequences this might have for Flack, she understood why her partner had to ask. While he's only responsible for the lab and its employee's, he tends to get worried about some of the detectives they work with on a regular basis. Mostly about those he actually befriends – especially this one. And even more after what had happened to Angell.

"He is," she finally answered. "Didn't show up; I can't reach him on his cell."

Again she could see the vein on his temple working hard to supply his overheating brain; like a pipe adding more fuel to an already white burning fire. Dangerous and only a question of time as to when it would blow up. This was definitely not looking good for her missing friend. The fact that he was absent was one thing; being absent without as much as a notice was something else. That added to her partner's already dampened mood didn't do anything to improve the atmosphere.

It was time Sheldon found a new place to stay.

"How do you want to play it?"

She knew he wouldn't let this rest and in a way, he was right. As much as she would have liked to think otherwise, they all know it's a really bad idea to go AWOL… least of all if everyone was looking your way already.

"I'll call his C.O., have him put him down for a day off."

Surprised she looked at him and searched for anything that might have stopped the explosion that had been so apparent. But she couldn't see it – whatever it was. All of a sudden he seemed calm again. Just when she thought he would bite her head off for not telling him right away that Don was missing, he dismissed it as something minor.

That hadn't been like the Mac Taylor she had known for so long.

Pointing at the suicide victim he finally ordered: "Walk me through it."

So she did and explained what had seemingly happened on the ship so far. Even to her own ears, it sounded like a strange coincidence. But then they had seen people killing each other over their dogs. With eight million people living in the city, coincidence too often turned into intent. And at least it gave the case a more interesting twist. Definitely more interesting than some finance guy killing his former boss. Even more so, when the perp did the deed in front of twenty witnesses and confessed already.

Looking from the bridge back to their victim, she wondered again how somebody could end up so desperate that he would jump into East River to be done with it. This was so… final. Even if you didn't hit a ship like their fatality had; from that height, the water surface would inflict just as much damage as a block of cement. It took a lot of courage to go through with this – or a lot of pain.

Glancing at her partner she wondered again, if there was any hope at all for dreams to come true.

"What do you think of dinner?" she blurted out suddenly.

Looking back at that moment, she's still not sure why she ever asked the question. It was exactly the situation she had feared most over the last weeks, if not years. Because for a while now, there had been this little voice inside her head, asking what would happen if they ever got past this bond of friendship and on to something… more. And then she popped this question in broad daylight, where several of their nosy colleagues could have heard.

He had looked at her for a moment, then he started to grin and answered: "I think it's an important meal of the day."

The playful twinkle was back in his grey blue eyes, daring her to go through what she had started. Maybe that's the reason somewhere deep inside her courage started to bubble up, taking over her very being. There was more than enough reason for him to snap at her right then – not only for her practically asking him out in public. With his foul mood lately she would have expected him to hiss at her to shut it then get back to work.

Maybe it was time to go through with it.

"Would you like to come over tonight?"

Courage can be a real bitch. The second the question has left her lips, she's sure that had been the final straw to break the camel's back. For a second his grin vanished, only to be back full force the next moment.

"For dinner?" The smile he sent her way was genuine, true and most of all it was the same playful smile she had come to love so much over the last years.

And all of a sudden this seemed like a really nice game to play…

"You'd expect more from a woman on the first date?"

His eyes went wide at the open question. A date… an actual date; not one of the friendly get-togethers they had shared for such a long time. He didn't answer for so long, she was sure he would tell her off this time. Instead his smile got incredibly large and his eyes practically beamed at her with joy.

She can't remember ever seeing that much joy in his eyes during the last eight years.

He nodded and just like that they were planning for a real date. Strange how after eight years of dancing along the same tunes they were finally able to change the rhythm. The fear she had felt minutes ago just thinking about what he might do if she ever asked him was gone, vanished into thin air as if it never existed in the first place. Just one simple question… fueling her hope that there really was a chance for them to walk their new path.

While she found herself making mental plans for a dinner date.

Only to be thrown back, when Sid told her the preliminary results on their suicide victim. The one that didn't really jump over the bridge and had consequently not committed suicide at all. She should have known his positive answer to her rather bold question was too good to be true. The one time she took all her courage and had simply dropped the line, a damn murder case had to jump out from the next corner to destroy all her plans. Hell, by then she had already decided what to cook and was even thinking about what wine would go good with it.

Damn compass killer had to choose this day to turn up again!

He couldn't have waited one more day, could he? Okay, so without the supposedly suicide she might never have asked her partner for the date in the first place. But then, maybe she would have! Now she will never know. And to be honest, she doesn't want to know. She didn't regret asking the question, she didn't then, doesn't know and she's certain she never will be. For the moment they were back to the mysterious compass killer anyway. And since they've been hunting that guy for quite a while, it would have been a bit over confident to assume they'd be able to actually keep their dinner plans.

And to top it all, Don Flack was still missing. Danny couldn't find him in his apartment and she could see her partner getting worried by the minute. It wasn't that hard to imagine what was going through that pretty head. He had been to the place Don had been trapped since the day Angell died. He might be the only one who could understand what their young friend was going through.

Although she hadn't expected Flack to spiral down that deep after the fire for revenge died from his eyes.

Obviously he had though, because when they had their team meeting about the compass killer during the afternoon, they still hadn't found their AWOL detective. She knew already that her partner had seen Lieutenant Syth to make excuses for Don. He had practically lied to their friend's C.O. and she could see that it was eating at him. He doesn't like lying – even less if everyone knew it was a sham.

She could see the vein near his temple pulsing hard again, while they worked through what they knew so far about their latest victim and his probable killer. Up until then he had managed quite well to keep his anger inside. But it was only a question of time until he would erupt. And by then she wasn't so sure what might happen to Don afterwards.

Of course she wanted the young man to be okay and she wanted them to find him rather sooner than later. Mostly so she could tell him what she thought of his behavior lately. She could understand the pain Don was probably still going through. But he was not only digging himself in deeper every day, he was also starting to pull in those who tried to protect him.

"Nothing from Flack?"

She had feared the moment he would come to her, hoping against both their hopes Flack would have called or at least send a message. Right then she would have gladly accepted if Don had ended up at central booking for sleeping off his drunken stupor.

"Danny went to all his usual spots. And we're running out of places to look," she told him the truth, knowing full well it was not the answer he had wanted to hear.

"And running out of time. Let's triangulate his phone."

The fact he was ready to go that far told her enough to know he was honestly concerned about Flack. Probably just as much as he was angry with him. The vein hadn't stopped hammering against his temple during the whole meeting. And while she knew the compass killer case was frustrating him to no end, his anger wasn't all about that. Most of it was because of Don Flack being missing. Especially because he had gone missing right during the time they had found another victim of this strange serial killer.

So she had gone straight back to work. If it wouldn't have been about Don they might never had contemplated to go to these extremes. Using lab equipment to trace a phone was bound to result in some paperwork. Red tape that could ultimately turn into some serious trouble for all of them. But they were worried; not to mention that they had used every other method they could think of. This was the only one left.

She used her partner's phone and called their elusive friend, hoping he would take the call if it came from him. Again, Flack didn't answer. Gladly the phone wasn't turned off either and she finally got a position. And it didn't look good. Not one bit. North Brooklyn isn't a nice place for a cop on a good day. Knowing Flack this hadn't been one of his better days. Or his phone wouldn't turn up in that part of the town. She had hoped fervently to find better news. It was frustrating enough to know her partner had agreed to a date and now everything and everyone seemed to work against them.

Time to face the lion…

"Hey, Mac," she called out to him in the hallway. While she would have liked to discuss this in a more private environment, the location of Don's phone asked for hurry more than for caution. "We got a location off of Flack's cell phone."

"From the look on your face, it's not good," he answered right away. Of course he had seen right through her, like he did way too often.

"East 98th North Brooklyn. Not exactly Flack's neighborhood." And definitely not something she wanted to blurt out too loud in public. "Keeping it quiet, but I'm worried something might have happened to him."

And really, there were a thousand things that had sprung to her mind when she had finally gotten his location. Flack could be lying dead in some backstreet; or being kidnapped by a gang member he had pissed off at one point or another. Detective Don Flack wasn't really known for wearing kid gloves with his suspects. And he had most likely made some enemies in the years as homicide detective.

"All we have is the location of his cell phone. We're not even sure, Flack's there"

His words didn't really make her feel better. If anything, it was making her worry even more, because if Don wasn't with his phone they had no more way of finding him.

"I'll handle it."

That she could believe. Question was how he was going to handle it.

But before she could say something, he continued: "When I'm off dealing with this, I need you to hold down the fort and stay on top of the compass killer."

Stay on top of the compass killer… that sounded like an invitation for a double shift. Gauging from the apologizing look on his face it most likely was. So much for their dinner plans… there was no way they would find this nutjob within the next three to four hours. They were working this case for six weeks now. And so far they still hadn't found any solid leads.

"Fine. You be careful," she answered.

She had wanted to give him a little peck on the cheek, just to cheer him up. Kind of like a promise for the time, they could finally make good on their dinner plans. Mostly because he looked anything but happy at that moment. Even the anger had subsided for a moment, to make space for disappointment and weariness instead. Since they were still in the middle of the hallway she opted for the cheap way out; giving his arm a gentle squeeze before she took off to get more work done – all the while hoping for a miracle.

To be honest she's not sure why she didn't just give him the kiss. She had done something like this before. It wasn't the first time she would get close to him, give him a little kiss on the cheek. But this time it had been different; it would have felt different. Most of all it would have meant something else.

Because they had changed.

So she did as she had been told; namely trying to find everything she could, to get closer to whoever was on a killing spree in New York. She has to admit though, that most of the time her mind was with her partner and their missing detective. Only when she got the call that everything was fine and their lost sheep was brought home did she stop worrying. So Flack was a bit worse for wear and would probably feel the effects of his little escape for the days to follow, but at least he was back where he belonged.

Best of all: They finally found a name for their suspect.

After six weeks of guessing, they had found a clue that might take them to their perp. Even Don got back on track rather quickly, bringing them the audio tape from the shooting that had killed Hollis Eckhart's wife – consequently leading to his breakdown and delusions. Delusions which ultimately lead to him randomly killing people.

She has to admit that she was taken a bit aback when she finally understood what was going on in the guy's head. They usually tried to find some connection between murder victims; they were looking for pattern in a serial killing. But with Eckhart there was no pattern because he killed the wrong people. In his twisted mind, those people were responsible for the death of his wife, while they had nothing to do with it to begin with.

Every one could have been the next victim – just because they resembled some sketch, his delusional mind had conjured up.

That's why she had been more than happy to finally be able to tell her partner something substantial; something that was getting them closer to Eckhart. While a hint at Flushing Meadows didn't really narrow the area down to a small radius, it was better than having to search the whole City, therefore giving them a good start. They could go from there. And if she got really lucky they would find Eckhart and could consequently get to the more interesting part of the evening entertainment.

There was a 24-hours convenient store around the corner of her apartment, she could still get everything she needed for dinner…

"The Rocket Park is in Flushing Meadows," her partner suddenly interrupted her wandering thoughts.

She looked at the picture he showed her and agreed with a short nod. Lifting another one of Eckhart's sketches, he looked at her again.

"And the Tent of Tomorrow. Looks like his drawings just became our compass."

She smiled and affirmed his line of thought again. Flushing Meadows it was. They really were getting closer to him.

"Let me get my coat and I'll come with you," she told him when he grabbed his wallet to head out.

"No. I need you stay here and coordinate everything."

For a second she was too stunned to answer but then anger and disappointment burst out of her.

"What?! Mac, I've been watching the processing all day. Give me a break here! If we're going to arrest Eckart, I want to be there."

She had been working the case as hard as he had, it was not fair to leave her behind now.

"If I remember correctly, your shift ended twenty minutes ago, Stell…"

"As did yours!" she bit back angry about his apparent dismissal of her help.

He sighed and turned around. For a second, she thought he would give in but then he shook his head. Instead his hand came up and carefully moved up and down her arm. She could see he wasn't angry with her. Didn't make it any easier for her not to be annoyed in return for his dismissal of her. This was her case too and she wanted to be there when they arrested Eckhart.

"Stella, please. Just… stay here and take care of everything for me."

Did he really have to look at her like that?! She can rarely resist his pleading eyes. It was even harder when they were sparkling like that. Not for the first time she marveled at the fact that his eyes actually seemed to have the unique ability to change color – regarding on mood or… whatever it was. Right then they were bright blue.

They never looked bright blue when he was angry.

"Why?" she had asked quietly, already giving in to his plea.

"I need you to think about the dinner you promised me," he finally joked back and grinned at her. "I want a rain check on that!"

"Tomorrow then…?"

"Tomorrow," he repeated.

Even now she can still remember how her heart suddenly sped up when he leaned in closer. The man was intoxicating… there's no other explanation for why she did give in to him that easily, not arguing any further to be part of Eckhart's arrest.

"I make sure I'll be hungry."

No way of telling what that little whisper did to her. But it definitely had an impact. Because after that there was not one single thought left in her brain. Her mind had practically gotten fried by this seemingly innocent sentence.

And the bastard just turned around and walked out on her!

The mere thought of what that seemingly harmless moment had done to her... she could kick his ass into next week. How could he do that to her?! No, scratch that. How could she just stand there and do nothing? If anybody had seen them this would not only be highly explosive gossip but also extremely embarrassing.

Really, she should have known all along; she should have known better than to underestimate him. Seems as if he hasn't forgotten anything. Claire used to jokingly warn her to keep away from men like him. Because while they could definitely bring out the best in you, there was always a price to pay. And most of the time that price would be your sanity as you got addicted to them. Addicted up to a point where you'd do everything they asked you if they just used the right word, the right gesture, the right voice.

True… painfully, blissfully true.

But also a fountain of hope because as soon as he had left 'hope' had definitely been the most prominent emotion inside her. Anticipation not exclusively for anything that might develop from that dinner. No, mostly it was her wish for him to get Eckhart so that they would be able to actually make good on their plans after all. Unfortunately, her hope had been in vain. They didn't get Eckhart – at least not that night.

In fact, they had spent the following day searching for their crazy killer – without much success.

They hadn't even bothered to talk about changing their plans because one look at his tired face had told her enough to know that he hadn't needed that one added to his ever growing list of worries. Although she's certain he never forgot about it, regretted the constant delay just as much as she did. At least twice she saw him looking in her direction with an apologetic smile; although there was no need for it. She knew that work came first. And in all honesty, she wouldn't have wanted it any other way. That was his way, his very being. If it ever changed… some vital part of him would be missing.

So she tried to ignore the pang of disappointed she felt every time her thoughts wandered back to what had been within arms length. He wasn't the one who had disappointed her. It was fate playing with her again. Eight years of waiting, ignoring, choosing to look the other way and forcefully erasing every idea that there might have been something deeper… and the day she decided it was enough and to actually do something about it instead, fate intervened. Giving her a dead body on a ship.

What kind of message was that supposed to send her?

Thankfully, she didn't really find time to think about that. If she had, who knows what depressive spiral might have opened up below her. The Compass Killer case was getting to all of them as it was – no need to add any more grief to that. She could see it in all members of their team during the day. Even after Eckhart got arrested; like a blanket thrown over them to keep the light and hope outside while they demons got another chance to show their ugly faces.

"And in other news, the New York phenomenon known as Manhattenhenge delighted…"

Quite rudely, she was pulled from her thoughts when her partner suddenly turns the TV off. Taking a deep breath, she looks at him for a second, recognizing the growing fatigue in his face. His worry lines seem to be etched just a tad bit deeper this morning. That's not how he should feel. They got their killer, they got Eckhart and maybe this time the poor guy would actually get the proper care he needed.

"So what's his final note mean?" Adam interrupts the silence when nobody seems ready to leave just yet.

"I shouldn't have asked her to come. I'm sorry." Lindsay's voice is soft only hinging at the same confusion Adam seems to feel.

They all know the message by now. It's still strange to hear it spoken aloud. Familiar and maybe just a fraction too close to the heart. She can actually feel the despair in it. Contrary to Eckhart's other notes this one had been more than the truth; it had probably been the one thought haunting the man for the last two years. Sadly she knows the feeling and she knows somebody else in the room does so, too…

With his final message Eckhart had brought something else back.

"Eckhart was supposed to meet his wife at the Lincoln Center after work," her partner starts to explain.

He was supposed to meet Claire for a second breakfast.

"But when he was running late, he told her to go to the surveyor's office instead." Keeping her voice steady wasn't very easy.

She had needed help with a case so he stayed with her instead.

"Figured if they were going to miss the show, they might as well be together." His voice doesn't give away the emotions that had to be raging inside him, only catching at the last word.

Neither of them had thought of inviting Claire over to the lab to enjoy breakfast together instead.

"So, he blamed himself as much as everyone else." This time it's Danny interrupting with his own two cents, not knowing how close to the truth he really was – Hollis Eckhart aside.

"Maybe even more."

Looking at her partner she can see that Lindsay, too, is a bit too close to the truth for comfort, but she can't say anything, can do even less. Not in front of everyone – not about this. They've been carrying this around for eight years now and they will bear with it for the rest of their lives. It's not something open for debate at the lab.

That's the moment the last remaining team member decides to put in his five cents of philosophical wisdom: "Each man is the architect of his own fate."

She looks at Hawks for a moment before she risks another sidelong glance at her partner. His face is stoic, not betraying any turmoil that might be raging in that busy head of his. Maybe the overwhelming guilt isn't that strong anymore. She can hope for it, although she knows she has her own guilt about it. Something that will never leave her.

But they're both here.

And after eight years they've – hopefully – learned to live with what that day had done to them. Nobody can change the past. They both made choices that fateful day eight years ago; choices they can't undo. She had asked for his help because she wasn't confident enough about her own work and he decided to stay instead of keeping the plans with his wife. If either of them had made another decision that day, he would have been at the Towers. Maybe Claire wouldn't be dead now if they'd chosen differently.

Just as well, he could be dead, too.

"And sometimes the fate of others," she finally answers; avoiding his gaze because even after all that time she's not sure if some part of him blames her for what had happened that September day in 2001.

When their colleagues leave the team room to finally go back to their work, she still can't look at him. Instead she remains seated, waiting for him to say something first. She can hear him fumbling with the TV remote but he's not saying anything. This, in its own way, is worrying her just the same.

Maybe even more.

She almost starts to say something, when he swiftly interrupts: "I was thinking of inviting everyone over to Forlini's in celebration of… well arresting Eckhart."

For a moment she's too stunned to actually reply.

"It's… it's on the department, you know," he adds in haste, probably anticipating her disappointed. "Sinclair… he…is quite happy… about it. The arrest."

Finally she looks over at him. He's stoically looking in the other direction. The TV remote is still in danger of either slipping from his sweaty hands or being broken from all the fumbling around. A smile dances over her lips when she recognizes how embarrassed he is for having to take another rain check on their date.

"You think we need that many chaperons, Mac?"

She doesn't really know why she said that. But she is sick and tired of the strung up mood that had accompanied them over the last days. It had taken a lot of courage for her to ask him for a date in the first place. She was not giving up on it. And she most definitely won't let him back out of it. If humor is the only way for them to overcome the awkwardness, then this is what she'll do!

So far it seems to be working because her little bait brings him up quickly. If anything, he's even more flustered now. Actually, she's quite sure she has never seen him that insecure before.

"I'm… It's Sinclair! He's paying, so why not…? And we can't really go there alone without him kno…!"

This is getting even better than she was hoping for. Time for a little payback! If he thinks he can drive her crazy by merely whispering in her ear… Well, even if he might be right about that, she can play that game just as well as he can!

"Excuses, Mac…!" she suddenly interrupts him, her voice harsher than it would have been necessary.

His eyes are wide open and she's not so sure if she's gone too far. But there's this tiny little fear inside her that he might use the whole situation to get out of that dinner. And she's simply not ready to give up on any of what her invitation could mean. She won't give up on this dinner, on their date and least of all would she give up on him!

To cancel their dinner a third time called for a little punishment.

"I want my date. And I want my dinner. And you, Mac are going to bring the wine!"

With that she gets up and storms towards the door. Just short of actually leaving, she turns around and glares at him for a second. She can see fear in his face, his chest heaving while he tries to get enough air into his lungs to support his racing brain with enough oxygen. It's time to take some pity on him. Her face softens instantly and she can't stop the grin any longer.

"Tomorrow evening, eight o'clock, my apartment. Don't forget the wine!"

The relieved smile he sends her way is enough to let her know he'll not only be there, he'll definitely bring the wine – and it will be a good bottle. Not overly expensive, but also none of the cheap stuff from around the corner. Seeing him smiling like this fuels her anticipation even more. Maybe she can even start hoping for more dates to come; leading on a new future that looks much more invitingly by the minute.

She turns around again, when she remembers one last thing…

"I've got some grocery shopping to do and might be late for Forlini's, so…"

"Chicken parmesan, sautéed vegetables," he continues, back to his usual confidence. And as so often, knowing her all too well.

"And garlic bread. Don't you forget the garlic bread, Mac!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are several episodes mentioned in this chapter. It's essentially doing the transition from 6.02 to 6.09 but the case storyline focuses mostly on 6.08 "Cuckoo's Nest" and 6.09 "Manhattenhenge". Nearly all conversations that are strictly case related are directly from the episode (minus the parts about their dinner of course ;))


	20. Silent Night

It's a strange feeling lying here; unfamiliar but still so well-known that he could almost pretend as if they had been doing this for years. And in a way, they probably had. It's different though; different from all the other occasions when he had woken up during the night, feeling another body pressed up to him. Also very unlike those occasions, the body pressing up to him had been the exact same one he could feel sprawled across his chest right now.

To say he would never have thought of them ending up like this would be a lie. Because there was no denying anymore that he had imagined this on one occasion or another. He had just never dared to hope that it would actually happen. Even now that they're both here, he's still not sure if he's dreaming; if it's really true that they had finally dared to take this last step. Maybe it's just another illusion…

If so, he doesn't want to wake up from it anymore.

To stay for forever in that dream. For so many years he had searched for a new place he could belong to, a person he could run to and who would always welcome him back home, arms wide open, a smile on her beautiful face. This is home, this is happiness; she's all he could have wished for. And still he wants more.

He wants it to last.

Carefully as to not wake her up, his hand glides through her unruly curls. She's sleeping deeply, hopefully dreaming pleasant dreams. He knows, he's enjoying his dream very much right now – although he's actually awake. Clouds are hiding the moon and only some wayward beams from the streets and stars are able to illuminate his bedroom. Still her auburn hair is glistering in the little bit of light that found its way up here.

For several minutes he indulges himself in the feeling of her locks slowly gliding over his fingers. She's not waking up; doesn't stir for a second. A smile slowly sneaks over his lips, filling his heart with an impossible amount of warmth – much more than he had expected to fit inside it. From there the warmth starts to spread through his whole body, mixing with the sensation of another kind of heat emanating from the body lying on top of him.

On any other day he might have found the weight oppressing, pushing on his chest and hindering his breathing. But not today. Today he welcomes it, longs for it. It makes this whole night a lot more tangible; real. And it proves again that this is not just a dream he's making up. He wouldn't feel her silken skin slowly sliding over his with every synchronized breath they take. This is real; it's true; it's not an illusion and if there is anything he can do about it, it will never end.

He'll never let her go again.

Suddenly she moves and pulls him from his reverie. It's not enough to actually wake her up, but her hand gliding over his bare chest does nothing to bring sleep to him either. If anything, it's waking him up even more – certain parts of him anyway. Parts that definitely are not supposed to wake up again so fast after what they've just been through… Gladly she goes back to her deep sleep before she recognizes what she's doing to him. There's no way of telling what another round would do to his weary body. Sometimes it really sucks to get old…er.

Sighing he thanks his lucky stars again for that she's here with him. No, not just for her being here, because she has been in this bed before. This time it's more. So he's actually glad she's here like this. Once more, a little smile finds its way to his lips. Yeah… totally drained like this. For a second he allows himself to not only feel happy and glad but also a little bit proud.

He's a guy; he's allowed to be proud for exhausting her like this!

His arms around her tighten for a moment, tender fingers gliding over her smooth skin. He doesn't want to wake her up, but he can't stop himself from touching her as much as possible. Just being here is breathtaking in its own way. It had taken them five years but in the end, they had found their way; had found each other. And while he hadn't dared to hope for the evening to end like this when he got up merely twenty hours ago, he's thankful all the same.

Had it really been less than a day that he went to pick her up in the morning?

The elevated feeling he had had even then had been hard to miss. So the knowing smile she had send his way, when he picked her up at four am would have been more than enough to make his day. Gladly it wouldn't be the last one. Despite the ungodly hour she had been wide awake and in a really good mood. They were early for their shift but they had a good reason for it – they had been on a mission.

Well actually, he had been on a mission and he had bullied her to come with him. Two days before they had investigated a gang shooting which had resulted in one uniformed officer dying on the scene. Don was busy with another case and since their own caseload was rather low at the time, they had taken it to themselves to inform the family. What they had found had been more devastating than the thought of a colleague dying on the job. The woman's husband had died only three months ago in a car accident, making their twelve year old daughter now the only living member of the family.

As far as he knows the social workers at the Children's Aid Society had identified an aunt who's supposedly living somewhere in Iowa. But as of yet they hadn't found her. So the little girl would have to spend her Christmas in an Orphanage or with temporary foster parents – if the Society could provide someone on such short notice. He had seen his partners eyes glaze over when she understood what permanent fate might await the little girl if this aunt wasn't found. Looking back at that moment, he's not sure if it was the girl or the sight of his partner that had resulted in him making this promise.

A promise of a joyful Christmas – at least for those children at the Orphanage.

That's why he had been at her doorstep this morning at four am. From that second on, they had been on their mission, determined to see it through. Since they had to start their shift only two hours later, there hadn't been lots of time to find the perfect tree. But he's quite confident, they had found it in the end. At least it had been as big as he had wanted it to be. And while his partner had laughed at him for his need to buy the biggest one they had for sale – muttering something about men and big things– he couldn't stop himself.

It's a family tradition; and she's his family now.

So wandering through the City with her and trying to find this one, perfect tree… it had reminded him of the years where he would do just that with the ones he loved. Going 'tree hunting' with her was fitting – it was perfect. Not to mention it had been lots of fun. And it had also been the one thing that made him realize what had been different about this Christmas.

For the first time in years, he had been looking forward to Christmas Eve.

It wasn't the first Christmas they would spend together – far from it actually. They had spend several Christmas dinners together over the years, starting a very long time ago; when somebody else had decorated this apartment for the season. And since then? The first Christmas that he had been supposed to spend alone, he had instead ended up at her apartment, getting a much needed peaceful night of sleep. Something he hadn't enjoyed for more than three months by then. Twice afterwards they went to a restaurant, neither willing to spend the evening alone; and both being off-duty for a change. Three times, they had eaten at the office over some paperwork which had refused to go away. Four years ago they had shared a couple of sandwiches looking down at the body of a holiday jumper.

Once… only once in the last eight years she hadn't been with him during this night.

She shifts again, this time actually moving off him, rolling on her side and curling up into a ball; taking most of the comforter with her and leaving his chest bare to the cold of the night. He smiles again, something he seems to do quite often today. No, not just today! Little by Little he takes in every detail of her face. Is that a smile on her lips as well? He wants to touch it, kiss those lips, let his hands slide over her body some more. Now that her weight and warmth is gone from his chest, he's missing it. Slowly he rolls on his side too, watching her sleep; not sure if he longs for her to wake up, so he can touch all he wants or for her to stay asleep because just looking at her like this gives him another kind of peace of mind he hasn't felt very often over the years.

Most of the women he had watched like this over the last years, had found it creepy to say the least. And if not creepy then at least disturbing enough to ask him to stop. Somehow he doubts she would do the same. Knowing her, she would probably wake up and ask if something's wrong. Then she would smile and if he's lucky she might even kiss him. If so, he could very well end up watching her every night…

That way she can rescue him over and over again.

Again his thoughts sway and return to what had happened mere hours before. Is that how Manning and Davis had felt? Looking at their own private angels during the night, only to end up dead because their angels were nothing but coldhearted devils in disguise? He knows, he's safe with her; that what those men went through is far away from what is awaiting him from now on. While she's a very independent and strong willed woman, he knows that for now it's in his hands where this night will lead them.

Looking back at today's case he's not sure if that was the last straw that brought them here. Maybe it was, maybe they were destined to end up like this tonight. But looking into Grace Chandlers eyes when she told him how 'good' they had been to give those men two joyful and most of all hopeful years only to crush them afterwards and get their money… it only helped him to realize how lucky he himself had been. During the last years she had rescued him so many times from the abyss. If only once he would have found a woman like Chandler, that woman might have crushed him all the same.

Hopes muted by an injection needle, squashed below a car tire, crippled by a 'Dear John' letter...

Standing in that interrogation room, listening to a young woman telling him, she had done a good deed in giving those men two more years before killing them off, he had finally seen all of what he had gotten from her over the years. She had spared him from this fate, rescued him from the despair a betrayal like this could have invoked in him.

Always… she had always been there for him, waiting to not only dampen his fall but – if possible at all – to avoid it in the first place. There's no way to deny that he knows the darkness all too well because too often it had been another kind of sanctuary to him; somewhere he could run to, if he hadn't wanted to deal with the sad reality loneliness had awoken in him. But she never allowed him to stay there; she always pulled him back, insistent on him taking part in what was commonly known as 'living'.

She's his second chance.

He had watched her go back to her office after they send the two women to central booking; seemingly lost in thought, not even realizing he was following her. Normally she had a 'spidey' sense of her own when it's about him. But not then. And for a moment, he had wondered what she was thinking about all this – if she could see how much she had given him over these years. Watching her, he hadn't been sure if she ever understood how close he had been to the darkness. In fact he hadn't been sure if he wanted her to know; he still isn't.

It's hard to tell how long he stood there or for how long he would have continued to stare at her back if his cell phone hadn't rang at that moment. A short text message informed him that their Santa and his elves equipment were stuck on the expressway. Their surprise guest wouldn't make it in time to fulfill their mission for those Children at the orphanage.

When he had looked up from his phone she had been there, probably hearing his phone ringing and checking if there was another case jumping from behind a corner to destroy their dinner plans. Well, not this time. It had taken them long enough to get to this point, there wouldn't be another case to distract them; he would make sure of that.

Less than an hour later half of his senior staff including one wayward homicide detective and his department-Santa were on their way to the children. Just thinking about how ridiculous they had all looked in their costumes makes him grin. He should have taken photos. No doubt, there would be plenty of opportunity to use them as leverage.

And they would have made for a nice memento.

But at the time his thoughts had been elsewhere. As much as he wants to say, they were already lingering at the place where they had finally ended up… at the time he still hadn't dared hoping for it. At least not today. Although today is more perfect than any other day could have been. Still, he hadn't thought about it, when he drove them over to the orphanage.

What he had been thinking about was the dinner he had prepared; the tree he had already put up in his apartment. It's the first time in years his home is actually decorated for the season. All for her. Only so she would have the perfect Christmas. It had taken him three weeks to think of a fitting present! It's still wrapped, sitting under the tree, waiting for her to wake up – just like the present she chose for him.

They had other presents to unwrap tonight…

Gently his thumb glides over her lower lip while he remembers the incredible smile she had showed him when she saw those kids getting their presents earlier this evening. He had wanted to kiss her so badly in this moment. But he didn't because it would have been their first kiss. It was supposed to be special, to be memorable. And definitely not something, he'd casually do in front of his subordinates.

So instead he simply gave her a little peck on the head, not unlike she had done with him so many times over the years. Pulling her towards him, he waved their friends goodnight. There was a dinner waiting for them. A dinner he had not only prepared because it was Christmas but also because this would be their third date.

At least the third one they had opted to call that way.

And everything was perfect, just like he had hoped. Dinner was great and she was smiling all the time, making his heart swell. He's not sure if they actually spoke about anything, though. They probably had, but if they did, he couldn't remember. He had been so fixated on her smile, everything else ceased to exist for a while.

Maybe that's why he can't remember how exactly they went from washing the dishes to kissing in the hallway.

Well he remembers the kiss and even more the feeling of her against him. He suspects that he initiated the kiss because she was the one pressed up against the wall. But maybe that's just wishful thinking because if the rest of the night was any indication, she can be quite pushy and even more demanding about her needs…

His thumb keeps on wandering over her lips. The same lips that had started a cartography expedition along his body not so long ago; tenderly mapping every scar he has to offer not as the ugly mark he often sees them but as a part of him that's dear to her. Her mouth is slightly opened and he can feel her warm breath gliding over his fingers with every exhale. The need to touch is getting stronger again but he's still wary to wake her up. She's sleeping so peacefully. All that crap from today's case doesn't matter to her anymore, forgotten while more basic needs had occupied both their brains.

Of course she will think about it again; will feel guilty for doing nothing to find Manning when he disappeared two years go. But in the end, she'll have to accept that there wasn't anything she could have done. If she had found him then, all she would have seen was a man, who had found his way; who had gotten another chance and taken the opportunity. Nothing would have changed.

She couldn't have changed Manning's life, but she sure did change his.

Every time she took him in, a little bit of her goodness and her strength had seeped into him. Just as the times she had come to him did. Those were the times where he had been strong for her, to give her back a little bit of what he had borrowed from her over the years. But in doing so, she had given him even more – a reason, a purpose; something outside of work that was worth getting up at three am in the morning when his help was needed.

Like all the times she was there when he needed her. Starting eight years ago, on the day. Maybe even the minute, he's not sure. Even if he knew what time it was right now, he can't really remember much of that night eight years ago. All he remembers is feeling lost and out of place. Mostly during the office Christmas party. Everyone had been so happy and joyful, while he couldn't bring himself to put up a fake smile.

Slowly his finger finds its way down her cheek and then her neck, drawing a fine line from the tip of her chin towards her sternum.

He remembers how she had taken him away from there. But the only place outside of work he had known at the time was the one place he should have kept away from. She had known that, had felt the desperation inside him; the need not only for sleep but also for a place to let go of it. A place where he would feel safe enough to give in to all the pent up anger and sadness inside him. So in the end that's what she did. She provided him with this place, preserving his sanity by doing so.

Her skin is warm and even if he's only touching her by the tip of his finger, it feels as if this warmth is spreading into him as if she was still lying on top of him.

She had taken him to her bed, had held him when he couldn't fight the emotions any longer. And she had never asked a question, never said anything about it afterwards. It was their little secret, something that hadn't been supposed to repeat itself ever again. Only it did and the longer he tried to put it off, the stronger his need for comfort had become. Until he couldn't bear it any longer; till the day he had stood before her door, unsure of himself and what would await him on the other side.

His finger glides from her chest upwards again, but takes a detour to her shoulder this time; drawing little circles while barely touching her anymore.

It's hard to remember how often he had found solace in her embrace, slowly falling onto a path that could only lead them either to where they are now, or to ultimate destruction. Thankfully, they found their way; they had found each other, firstly as friends and now even as something more. With all the crap they had gone through over the years, whatever problem lies before them now will be a walk in the park. They'll deal with anything the brass might throw at them for taking this step.

Trailing along her shoulder, his finger finds its way back towards her face, tracing her lips once more. Everything inside him is acing to claim them all over again but he's still avoiding to wake her up.

He had started this journey eight years ago in her bed on Christmas Eve, sleeping while she watched over him and held the nightmares at bay. Now they are in his bed and he's the one watching over her. Not to dispel the nightmares, not to keep her safe because for once there's no imminent threat out there to either of them. Instead, he can indulge himself in simply admiring – and feeling incredibly lucky.

Taking great care not to dip the mattress too much, he inches closer to her, his hand brushing the curls from her forehead and temple; amazed again that this is real.

His lips are barely touching her skin when he kisses her temple. Closing his eyes he thinks back once more to all those moments when he had felt her slipping away from him; the pain he had felt when the fear of her staying in Greece had almost been too much to bear. It's all in the past now. Not wasted years but years they put to good use. Without those years, they might never have found the way to where they're now. So there's nothing to regret.

"Thank you for saving me," he whispers against her temple and smiles when she didn't even stir.

Heart swelling just thinking about what the years to come might bring, he lightly kisses her temple a second time, then her cheek, her neck; every part he can reach with her still being curled up on her side. Another smile finds its way to his lips and if she'd be awake she would see it reaching his eyes, making the blue in them stand out even starker against the darkness of his bedroom.

He has found love again.

And this time it will hold. He won't let her go; he can't let her go. But he's not afraid she would leave him anyway. It's not like her. If she commits to something, she sticks to it. She wouldn't be here like this – in his bed, the comforter the only thing shielding her bare skin from the cooling air. If she didn't plan on staying she would have stopped at that first kiss. She'll stay and he won't let her go…

This time his smile is tainted by something else because this means there's one more thing he's got to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although it's probably barely recognizable anymore… this one is about episode 6.11 „Second Chances". On a little side note: The specific "Children and Families Benefit" they're helping is never mentioned, only that it's supposed to be in Downtown. I chose "Childrens Aid Society of New York", since I guess it's roughly in the area. Their main building looks nothing like what's been on the show, though (neither did any other association like it; in and around the area I could find).


	21. Epilog: Final Words

It was still dark outside when she woke up. She was sore in places she hadn't known she had before. However, it was a welcome kind of sore; a pleasant one too. A smile played over her lips while she stretched her arms over her head. Her feet sliding over the sheets she was looking for a warmer spot because she could feel the cold creeping up her legs. That was when she finally recognized what was wrong about the situation.

Sometime during the night, her human hot-water bag had vanished from the bed.

Confused she felt around the bed sheets; in case her still a little fuzzy brain had actually managed to miss the five foot nine guy. In the end she had to admit to herself that the bed was far from being big enough to lose sight – or touch – of the man. Which raised the question of where he had gone instead – and why? Did he regret what had happened?

In a way they had danced around this night and the accompanying topic for the last five years or so. Although she had to admit that for most of that time, they had barely scratched the surface of the depths they had found themselves in during the last three months. It had taken them both a very long time not only to see where they were heading but also to get to a point to accept it.

Well… she had accepted it.

Him being absent from the bed wasn't really a good sign in that regard. But maybe he was just in the bathroom? She couldn't hear the water running, neither could she see any light shining below the door. Doubtful he was in there…; no light from the hallway or the living room either.

A frown started to develop on her forehead. Where did he go? His apartment wasn't really big enough to run away from her.

That thought was frightening in its own way. Would he run from her? Had he run from her already? Because he regretted going this far? She had thought they both wanted this; they both wanted to go for this last step to try and be something else – something more. This was their chance to finally find a place for themselves; a place with a name and a meaning. Somewhere outside of work where they not only fitted in but where they really belonged to.

Together.

Getting up she checked the bathroom but as she had suspected, he wasn't in there. So she pulled the bathrobe from the hook behind the door and wrapped it around her naked body. A cold breeze was gusting over her bare calves, coaxing her in the direction of the living room. Slowly she walked through the darkness, pale moonlight the only thing illuminating her path. A lonely curtain in the living room was silently moving with the wind. The night air was cold and she pulled the robe tighter around her shoulder, when she stepped up to the balcony door.

He was sitting on an old wooden chair which hadn't been very well tended to during the last years. The former white paint was scaling off the splintering wood. But the chair seemed to be sturdy enough to hold his weight. He was wearing sweatpants and a thin woolen sweater. Instantly her worry turned up a notch. How long was he sitting there already? If he stayed out here too long he could catch his death.

That was when she saw two slow tears running down his cheek.

Instantly her heart seized. He was really regretting this, wasn't he? And now that they had taken this step, there was no way for them to get back to the point where they had left when they had first decided to bring their relationship to a new level. Of course there had always been a possibility of… of one or both of them being unable to cope with the new situation. But never during the last night had she felt him being anything but content with where they had found themselves.

When he moved she can see, he was clutching something to his chest. Clouds were hiding the moon, taking even the little amount of light she had to work with here. She was still too afraid to say something; scared that he might send her away after all. Staring at him she tried to find the right words to pull him from wherever the night had taken him – preferably to bring him back to her.

The clouds finally moved, illuminating his slumped form and the deflated beach ball he held so close to his heart. Why was he sitting here in the middle of the night on Christmas morning, clutching at a beach ball of all things? Frowning she stepped outside on the cold stone floor, ignoring the biting cold that instantly seeped into her soles.

"Mac?"

Surprised he turned around and smiled at her tenderly.

"What are you doing out here?" she asked carefully.

He smiled at her even more. She can see the pain in him but also something else… something suggesting a new beginning, promising hope, pledging devotion.

"Saying farewell."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading.


End file.
